


When You're Fast (But Not Fast Enough)

by Zoe13



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Apocalypse, X-Men: Days of Future Past
Genre: Anorexia Nervosa, Bulimia, Depression, Eating Disorder, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, mention of adhd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:54:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe13/pseuds/Zoe13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Charles Xavier has learned one thing about people with low self esteem, it is this- no matter how desperately and stubbornly they hate themselves, everyone has a small glimmer of self worth that will not go away. All they must do is unlock it and cause it to grow. </p><p>If Peter Maximoff has learned one thing about people with mental health issues, it is this- boys don't get depressed, self-harm, or develop eating disorders. That's what people say. So obviously he is fine. </p><p>If Erik Lensherr has learned one thing about family, it is this- you make one for yourself. But sometimes the one you made includes blood family as well. He hasn't learned that part yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where this came from. It just popped into my head. My love for X-Men's Quicksilver is unrivaled. However, I am not very well-informed on the X-Men. It was highly suggested I not bother with any X-Men movies before First Class, and I haven't read any comics except a few involving Wolverine. So I'm sorry about inaccuracies. 
> 
> NOTE- I do, however, reserve the freedom to write what I please because this is just fanfiction. Also the world has sort of reset because of the events of Days Of Future Past.

Some things you don't tell anyone. Everyone has those things, those little secrets that just don't really matter and don't need to come to the light. 

Peter's not sure why he fights so hard to hide his. After all, it's no big deal. All of the X-Men have seen horrors, all of them have dealt with loss and trauma and survivor's guilt. All of them have struggled with their powers- many of them more than he. Jean lives in fear of harming others. Kurt has been labeled a demon by many. Scott can never open his eyes and see a world without his ruby tinted glasses. And he's lost his older brother recently. The list could go on, but all that thinking about it does is shove Peter further into the dark, which starts an endless paradox of _I feel depressed, but they have it worse, which makes me more depressed, but they have it worse..._

It's maddening, really. He can't stand to stop and think because it hurts too much, so he can't stop running. Always running. But he's never quite fast enough. 

After all, he wasn't fast enough to save Scott that loss. He wasn't fast enough to catch up with Magneto- Erik- _Dad_. He wasn't fast enough to beat- well, he can't quite remember the name. The being that nearly ended the world, the false god. The students call him Apocalypse now. 

A small chuckle. Isn't he a funny one. The comics, the comedians- are they always the ones with a secret dark side? Maybe in another universe he kills people. Maybe in another universe he likes being slow. But in this universe, both drive him mad. He killed Scott's brother when he wasn't fast enough. He's thinking in circles again. He needs to run.

Off he goes, out of his room, down the hall, and out on the lawn in literally split seconds. Lap after lap- he burns through some grass and has to stop and put it out. Back to running. It takes too long to feel the burn, too long to get stitches in his side and that rushed, dizzy feeling. It's hours that he's out there, running right up until the end when his vision goes black and he stumbles, face first into the ground with a mouthful of grass. He doesn't quite pass out at first, the black retreats to dark dots in his vision for a bit, but he can't move. He's done this every night for a month, ever since he got his cast off, and every night ends the same. On the ground, not even fighting for consciousness. The black spots grow larger again after a few moments and he lets the dark take him. 

 

 

 

Breakfast is quiet. Everyone is in a somber mood and Jean is nowhere to be found. Peter barely dragged himself in before the students were woken up, but he was awake enough to listen when Scott explained. A nightmare- fortunately not a vision- caused Jean to set fire to her own bed in her sleep. She's alright barring a few minor burns, but Peter feels it like a slap in the face. He's lucky. He's one of the fortunate few. His power has never resulted in anything as devastating as hers could. As Scott's could. As that of almost any other mutant in the building could.

No one notices his full plate in the trash.

 

 

 

He doesn't go with Scott and Kurt to visit Jean. He feels like he can't face her after he momentarily pitied himself last night. It's a Saturday, which means no class, so he goes outside to practice. 

Hank's pleasant smile, Raven's small nod as he'd passed- he avoids running in the halls so he doesn't frighten people- they feel undeserved. He throws caution to the wind and flies away, taking off the moment he's away from people. He's breathing heavily but it can't be from exertion, not yet, so he gets as far as he can and collapses into the grass again, panting and holding his pounding head in his hands as he curls into a ball in the dirt. He's not even sure what he's thinking. His mind is running as fast as his legs can and not a single thought completes itself or stands out. He's rolling side to side, crying- he's pathetic, he's a fucked up mess, he's a failure-

" _Peter!_ "

The voice cuts through his panic and Peter bolts upright, eyes wide. It is heavily accented and he comes face to face with blue. It's Kurt. 

"You scared the shit out of me!" Peter exclaims, then immediately regrets it when Kurt looks a little wounded. Fuck, not like that. "You surprised me."

The wounded look recedes back into concern. "What was that? You don't seem well."

"I, uh..." In a rare occurrence, Peter has no words. "It was...I used to have anxiety. And it's better. I just had one anxiety attack. It's better otherwise, though. Hasn't happened in a long time."

The concern barely fades. "Are you sure?" Kurt asks hesitantly. 

"Yeah. Yup. Absolutely." Peter jumps up. "I think it got triggered last night, you know, I'm worried about Jean. But I'll be fine. Nothing mentionable. Right?"

"If you say so," Kurt says finally. "But if it happens again you should tell the Professor. He might be able to help."

Peter grins. "Of course I will. If it happens again, which it won't. Thanks, though."

Despite the stunted phrasing of his words, he knows he's gotten away with it. He's a good actor even with bad lines, and Kurt is smart in ways other than reading people, so it's not his strong suit. 

"You are welcome. Oh, I believe lunch is nearly ready." Kurt offers a hand. 

"No thanks, I need some practice running," Peter declines, flashing a grin. Kurt smiles back and vanishes.

Peter waits until his hands have finished shaking. It takes a long time. 

 

 

 

"Hey, Peter," Hank hails him across the hallway. "Can I speak with you for a moment?" 

Peter's heart jumps into his throat but he doesn't know why. He's done nothing wrong, and there's nothing wrong with him. 

"Yeah, whattup?"

"Oh nothing big." Hank's smile calms him and he follows the older man to his lab. 

They pass through the hangar at a slow pace that drives Peter up a wall. He never walks unless he has to. 

"So I've been thinking about your metabolism," Hank says as they walk. "You know, you burn a _lot_ of energy running and you run all the time. At first I thought that your 'superpower' so to speak was regulating your caloric intake somehow so that you didn't have to up it, but lately I've noticed that it hasn't been keeping up." 

Peter suddenly feels nauseous and shaky. His heart is thumping heavily. Is Hank getting too close to the truth?

"Oh really? I haven't noticed anything like that," he says, almost proud of how calmly it comes out. "You know me, I eat like any other teenage boy and handle it just fine."

Hank laughs. "I don't think an average of two pizzas a day or whatever is going to cut it for someone with super speed. You've lost weight since you got here. Have you been running more?"

"You know," Peter says, mouth dry, "I, uh...you know, I think fighting Apocalypse or what's-his-scary-face kind of made me stronger. I didn't fight him much, I obviously got nowhere, but I've been a bit faster and that's probably why I'm burning energy more."

Hank nods thoughtfully. They've reached the lab by then, and he pulls out a piece of paper and a pen. "How much do you weigh?" He asks.

"I don't know," Peter answers truthfully. That is a path he knows he can't go down. To know the numbers, to make them go up and down as he pleases, to control...

"Peter?" Hank looks concerned and Peter snaps out of his trance. 

"Oh sorry. Tired. Couldn't sleep. I was worried about Jean all night- how is she, by the way? Is she healing okay? I didn't see her at lunch either."

He watches whatever thought Hank had had disappear as he gets distracted by the rambling. It's an old tactic of his.

"She's alright. Mostly just shaken up and wanting to avoid hurting anyone. She could probably use some visitors, though, if you haven't already seen her."

"Alright, maybe I'll show her a few card tricks."

"You know what?" Hank laughs, "just don't tell me. You're involved, so that sounds dangerous."

"Okay," Peter winks. "They can't get information out of you if you don't have any."

"Exactly." Hank throws himself into a chair and it wheels backward, bumping lightly into a table. He chews on the tip of his pen. "Okay, I'll find a scale somewhere in this mansion and then I'll calculate your height, weight, average speed, etc. to figure out how many calories you should be consuming."

"Sounds good," Peter says, giving him a thumbs up. "I'll be off, then." 

Hank is lost in thought already and dismisses him with an absent smile and a wave of his hand. Peter zips away, letting out a breath of relief. He doesn't stop running until he's reached the edge of the grounds where the grass meels a cornfield. 

He can't let them put more food into him. He just can't. He'll learn how to hide it. He'a fast, right? He can throw it in the trash and it won't look like he's even twitched. But he'll have to keep practicing, have to keep running faster to avoid any mishaps. He can't afford to have anyone else notice a thing. So what if he's lost a little weight? It won't hurt him. 

 

 

 

"Hm." Hank's eyebrows furrow. "That's probably not the best weight for someone who's 5'11"."

Peter looks down at the number on the scale and swallows hard. It read 144.6 lb. and he hates knowing. He's always hated numbers.

"I think it's partially cause of my power," he says stepping off. "I think I'm sort of just unnaturally lighter because of my unnatural ability. I mean, I don't look that skinny, do I?"

Hank looks him up and down. "Well you look thinner than when you arrived but I suppose you don't look as thin as I would think the weight would suggest. It's possible that that could be correct. I'll look into it and let you know, but for now I'll be calculating your caloric intake and how much more you'll need."

Peter hadn't heard much after ' _you don't look as thin as I would think_...'

He isn't thin? Is he not thin? He isn't as thin as Hank had thought. He isn't thin enough. 144.6 isn't good enough. It's  _too much too much too much-_

"-ter!"

"Hm?"

"You've been really spacey lately," Hank notes with concern in his eyes. 

"Oh. Yeah. Must be the calorie deficit." Peter laughs it off. "Let me know when you have those numbers and I'll try to up my intake."

"Will do. Rest up if you need to. Dinner should be ready shortly and I'd say for now double up what you eat, at least. That's a rough guesstimate and you may require more."

"Yes sir." Peter salutes him and takes off. 

_Hunger is good. Hunger pains are good. It means you did something right._

_You're too slow, you deserve to be punished. You're just not fast enough._


	2. Chapter 2

Having the dining room turned into a nice cafeteria has made all the difference for Peter. When they had tried to all eat at a table together, it had been harder to hide his eating habits, but a cafeteria loans him space and distractions to use to his advantage. The number of students is growing steadily, and he can easily pretend to use his speed to eat or actually use it to dispose of food. 

Kurt has been keeping an eye on him, he knows that, so he takes a few bites for show and winks at the other boy, causing him to flush a slight purple but smile back. He turns away after a few moments and Peter zips a bit more of his food into the trash. Just a bit at a time, so it looks like he's eating it. It's exhausting, which is strange, really. Running used to feel like it almost gave him more energy, as if moving slowly at a 'normal' speed was more draining. 

"Hello Peter," greets a soothing voice. It's Xavier, stopping by his table where he's sat alone.

"Hey, whattup?" Peter asks in his usual annoying tone. Well, at least most people find it annoying. "Come to share a table with a legend? I hear the new arrivals think I'm a hero."

"As do we all," Xavier replies with a bit of a smirk. His eyes are laughing and Peter is glad to see it. "I just thought I'd say hello. We haven't interacted much. Hank mentioned his theory...?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah." Peter shovels a spoonful of food in and fights a grimace. "He thinks I need more food since my powers are stronger."

Charles doesn't flinch when Peter speaks around his food, he simply waits patiently.

"And do you agree?"

"Well, could be true. I've been a bit tired lately. Slower in the old noggin." Peter raps his knuckles on his head and prays Xavier doesn't read his thoughts. Charles had told him he thought far too quickly for him to keep up, but it could be a lie, or maybe he's slowed down...

 _Peter, where did you go?_ A bemused voice asks in his head. He can still communicate telepathically, it's just a little difficult. 

"Sorry." Peter trise to move the conversation out loud to avoid any mishaps. He thinks far too loudly, and he doesn't want to project. His hands begin to shake so he sets his fork down and tries to subtly put them in his lap. "I'm tired. Couldn't sleep, I was stressing about Jean, but she's better so hopefully I'll get some good sleep tonight."

Charles looks a little concerned. "If you need help sleeping I'm sure Hank could find a way to slow you down enough at night to get some rest."

"Oh, that's true." Peter swallows nervously. "Well I'll see if it gets better and if not I'll let him know. Can't really function without sleep, can I? Nope, that will not do. I'll have to go to bed early tonight. Hey, look at the time. Is everyone else gone?"

"No, there are still a few students in here," Charles says with a frown. "Why don't you finish your meal and then try reading or doing something relaxing for a bit."

"Will do, boss man," Peter quips. 

"Eat up," Charles calls over his shoulder as he wheels away. Peter doesn't like the look of his concerned frown.

 

 

 

Mystique is making them focus on hand to hand combat for a while, and for once Peter is glad he isn't allowed to use his power in those times. None of them are, and he is simply too tired to move at a faster speed. He needs the break. It's the only excuse his head will ever accept for him to not be working on going faster and faster. 

"Today we will be focusing on knives," Mystique informs them as they line up. "They're common enough because they're quiet and easy to conceal. It's one of the most difficult defenses to learn, so we'll be working on it for a while."

Peter feels out of it the whole time they run through the basic steps for an attack from the front. A few things stand out like _straight stab_ and _redirect_ , but he starts to get the feeling that something is wrong. Kurt is his partner for the lesson and he gets that concerned look again as Peter zones in and out. 

"Are you alright?" He asks when Mystique is distracted whilst helping Scott. Peter finds it harder to understand his accent when he's dizzy. 

"I'm fine," he says, trying not to snap at him. Kurt is just trying to help and he's had enough harsh words hurled at him throughout his life. 

Kurt watches as he sways. "No, you're not." He turns to Mystique to say something, perhaps to ask her to knock some sense into Peter, but he never gets the words out as Peter takes a step back and then crumples. 

He doesn't quite black out. He's in a daze and he can't make anything out, but he hears Jean's cry of _Peter!_ and feels the mat they're training on bend under the weight of people standing around him. Someone checks his pulse and he sees a flash of blue. He suspects that it's Mystique but his vision is blurring in and out.

He groans as his headache worsens and he hears Kurt babbling about something. 

"'m fine," Peter slurs. He's fine. He's just tired. 

"We weren't doing anything difficult," Mystique says in a clipped tone, "so I highly doubt it's just a bit of over exertion, especially taking your specific powers into account."

Peter just frowns at her, furrowing his eyebrows when he can't quite make out her features. 

She sighs. "Did you hit your head on your way down?"

"...no?"

Mystique stares at him sharply for a moment before giving up. "Kurt, take him to see Hank. He can make sure he's alright. Then I want you back here and we'll continue training. Peter, take the day off."

"I'm fine!" Peter protests. "See?" He pushes himself up but barely gets off the ground before his head swims again. He falls back with another groan.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He can't understand.

"I'll be back," Kurt says solemnly before he takes Peter's hand and teleports him to Hank's lab with a _bamf._

"Jesus- " Hank freezes. "Was. Um. Very holy."

Kurt just blinks at him. 

"Sorry, you surprised me, is all," Hank says before noticing Peter on the floor. Kurt had teleported him in the same position but he still feels like vomiting. "What's wrong with him?"

"He fell over while we were training. I think he, uh...what you call it? He looked sick."

"You passed out?" Hank addresses Peter directly. Peter gives him a sheepish grin and a thumbs up but Hank's concerned look doesn't falter. "Did you eat more like I told you to?"

"I did for dinner last night," Peter says. His mind is thinking fast and hard. "But...I slept in too late for breakfast. Missed mealtime. My fault, really, I'm normally one of the first up."

"You can't afford to miss a single meal," Hank protests. "At least not if you're planning on using your power. And certainly not until I've figured out how much you need to eat regularly."

"Well we figured out the problem, at least," Peter says cheerfully. "Kurt, you can go."

Kurt hesitantly pats him on the shoulder and then disappears looking awkward. Peter's vision is finally clearing, and he takes the opportunity to drag himself to his feet. If he leans against the wall, no one needs to know it's so he won't fall again. He crosses his arms and feet and tries for his usual smirk. 

"Lunch is in a half hour," Hank tells him, "why don't you come with me and we'll try to snag some food for you early. Then it's bed rest for you. Even without you straight up running, your body is burning through everything quickly, and you can't afford to burn much more than you have at the moment. I think you lost more weight."

"Sure." Peter shrugs and pushes himself off the wall. The dizziness is finally gone, thank god, and he falls into step beside Hank, adding a slight skip and whistling to seem more like himself. "So you turn big and blue. What I don't get is how you change size- like how do you just grow more mass? Actually that's confused me about Mustique as well. Do you think she gets a dick when she transforms into a man? Does it feel weird to have one like...grow?"

"Oh my god..." Hank says faintly, flushing bright red. "I don't really...think about it."

"But she loses her boobs when she transforms into a man, so logically I would think-"

"Peter," Hank cuts him off. "Ask her yourself and don't ever mention it to me again. Better yet, don't even ask her. Just don't think about it."

"But these things keep me awake at night," Peter says solemnly. "I have a curious mind."

"You have a messed up mind is what it really is," Hank glares and Peter grins. 

Charles is in the dining hall when they enter, sitting alone at a table with a cup of coffee and a book.

"Tolkien," Hank says with a smile.

"Nerds," Peter says with a grin. 

Charles sets his book down with a smile. "Hank, good to see you. Peter, don't you have class with Raven?"

"We're here to get him some food. He slept in and missed breakfast so he passed out in class."

Charles turns to eye Peter sharply and suddenly Peter realizes his mistake. The Professor had seen him at breakfast. His heart rate immediately skyrockets and he gets tunnel vision as his breathing becomes irregular. _Shit, shit, shit, you total fucking idiot. What a brilliant thing to forget._

"Why don't you sit down," Hank tells Peter before wandering off to fetch some food. Peter shakily slides into the seat across from Xavier and manages a wobbly smile. 

"So you're into fantasy?" He asks. Charles looks at him for a long moment. 

"Yes, quite," he says. "Now if you'd kindly explain to me why Hank believes you missed breakfast..."

"I..."

Peter's not even sure what he's worried about. It's really not a big deal. He just doesn't eat as much as other teenage boys, that's all. What's there to be upset about? It's not a problem, is it?

"Peter, you're zoning out again," Charles says.

"Oh. Sorry. I've been having these awful nightmares since... Apocalypse. And it keeps me up which slows me down and makes me less hungry."

Charles eyes him for a moment before he seems satisfied. "Let Hank know if you need anything, he's been able to help with several students. Kurt is prone to nightmares as well and Hank has nearly cured him of them."

"Yup, will do," Peter says with an inward sigh of relief.

"Okay," Hank interrupts, setting a tray in front of Peter, "all I've been able to get out of them is carrots, some juice, and cheese and crackers. Eat that and then we can wait for lunch. After that you need to sleep."

"Peter just informed me that he's been having nightmares," Charles says. Hank slides into seat by Peter and looks lost in thought for a moment. 

"Unfortunately, most medicines run through your system extremely quickly, but I might be able to mess around with the dosage and find one that works," he offers. 

Peter just nods, looking down at his plate in despair. There's so much food.

 

 

 

 

It's sort of an accident when he zips all the way up to his bedroom and vomits in the toilet of his adjoining bathroom. The food simply will not stay in his system. He'd managed to get rid of most of the actual meal, but he'd had to eat the snack as there had not been a single distraction to hide the food during. 

He'd immediately gotten a sick, disgusted feeling. He felt heavy and slow with the food in him, and throwing it up felt like taking off a weight, like setting himself free.

He's shaky and sweaty when he gets into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank can see Peter losing weight because his heightened metabolism also means he loses weight really fast. Normally it would not be apparent so soon.


	3. Chapter 3

It's fucking _pouring_ that night, but nothing can stop Peter now. He has to be faster, always faster than the last time, faster than he's ever been.

He'd be quick enough to dodge raindrops if they weren't literally everywhere, but they are, so he's soaked to the bone within a few minutes. He thinks he likes the feeling- no, he doesn't like it, despises it actually, but realizes it feels like what's inside. It feels like what's in his chest, that frozen and heavy weighted organ under his left breastbone. It's just what's inside being brought to the outside, and it makes it feel more real. 

Faster, faster, faster- he's rounding the edge of the property again, acres and acres of slippery green grass and stately trees. He cuts himself a bit of slack on account of the slipperiness and then realizes it could make him fail in the future. He picks up speed again until his vision is swimming in the rain and his breath is coming in pants. The stitches in his side feel like stab wounds and the pain is nearly crippling. 

He doesn't realize he's slowly shrunk his circular route until he's headed for the large pond behind the house. He's running so quickly- even in normal time for him- he cannot stop fast enough. He skids, tearing up grass and dirt with his shoes. A spark flies but is quickly put out by the rain.

"Shit shit _shit_ ," he swears loudly as the rain pelts his face. He can't see, he's not stopping anytime soon-

He skids over the edge and lands in the pond with a splash, the water still a cold shock despite his already being soaked from the rain. His limbs lock and the cold knocks the wind out of him. _Can't move, can't breathe, can't see_ \- he can't stop the panic attack. The pond isn't deep, and somehow he panics and flails his way to the edge, but he's so cold and his vision is going black, and he barely lifts his head onto the bank before he passes out, the majority of his body still in the freezing pond. 

Hank is gonna kill him.

 

 

 

" _Peter?_ "

A voice cuts through. He's so cold, but he can barely tell. He's numb. His skin is completely numb and he can't breathe-

"Peter, can you hear me?"

He hears something metal hit the dirt with a _clang_. 

"Charles!" A voice calls out sharply, and then someone is hauling him out of the water. Their hands feel like a furnace and Peter feels himself trembling violently. He can barely make out anything in the sudden light. It's too bright outside. "It's alright, we'll get you taken care of." 

He's pulled into an upright sitting position and something- a coat- is draped over his shoulders. He can barely feel it. Then he's being hoisted up, feels an arm under his knees and another under his back, and he looks up to see Magneto. 

Erik Lensherr. Dad?

"Wh-wh-where am I?" Peter stutters, his teeth chattering violently. 

Erik's eyes are surprisingly kind as he walks toward the mansion. 

"Xavier's school?" He provides. 

Right. Peter knew that.

"Peter? Oh my god!" 

That's Hank. Peter knows he's in trouble when Hank emerges from the house and runs toward them. But no scolding comes.

"Where was he? What happened?"

"As I told Charles, I was heading to the house when I saw him laying in the water over there. He's freezing." Erik's tone is a little clipped but not quite hostile. Hank throws a glance at the pond and shivers. 

"We need to get him inside quickly," he says urgently as they approach the house. 

"D'you think this is how Captain America felt?" Peter chatters through clenched teeth. Erik lets out a huff of breath that could almost be a laugh. 

Charles is by the door looking worried out of his mind, but he says nothing, letting Erik follow Hank to the makeshift medical area they've made do with for the time being. Peter's not entirely sure what's going on, his vision is blurring again and he's starting to warm up. Oh god, he's warming up and it  _hurts_ - 

"-nd hypothermia, do you know how long he-"

"-ust found him-"

He's trying to concentrate. But he's so tired...

"Peter!" A voice calls sharply. It's Erik. "You can't sleep right now."

"I can't stop it..." He chatters. He's tired of shaking, but he can't stop that either. He's trembling violently on the table he can't remember being settled onto, and that should be worrisome but really, the whole situation is. Why is he cold? And wet? What happened?

"-ter? What happened?"

Hank must be a fucking mind reader. Let's ask the kid what he doesn't know, just for fun, right? Peter knows somewhere deep down that he's not being fair, he's irrationally upset, but he doesn't know why. Apparently he doesn't know anything. 

"I- I don't kn-know."

Someone's rubbing him near-violently with a towel, and he can feel his hair sticking out in all directions. He fights off panic as they take his clothes, but he's just lucid enough to get why, and they thankfully use the coat to help him reserved a little dignity before a flash of blue appears with a pile of clothes that they wrestle him into. Kurt's eyes are scared before he vanishes again. 

"Were you running?" Hank asks as he turns around with a blanket. Erik watches the whole ordeal stiffly but reaches over to tuck a corner in once the blanket is laid over Peter. It still fucking hurts, everything hurts.

"I th-think so. My s-skin hurts, and m-my chest-"

"I know," Hank says soothingly. "I think you have moderate hypothermia. Fortunately you seem to have avoided frostbite, probably due to your slightly enhanced healing. Warming you up is going to hurt for a bit but then you'll feel better."

He looks worried when he turns away, however, and Erik's feigned indifferent stare slips and falters a bit. Peter thinks maybe there's a heart in there somewhere. As he looks at the man, he can't help but feel that something is different.

"How is he?" A voice asks from the doorway. It's Charles, hesitating on the threshold. Hank absently beckons him in and Erik shifts over to make room for his wheelchair. It's all very strange, but Peter barely notices. 

"Moderate to severe hypothermia, miraculously avoided frostbite. He's going to be sick for a while."

As if on cue, Peter hacks out a violent cough that shakes his whole body. His eyes burn. He wants to cry, but that's just stupid. He's just stupid.

Oh fuck. Now he remembers. He was out running and it was pouring and he slipped- 

"Thank you for acting quickly," Charles says to Erik. "I understand being unshielded is difficult for you."

Erik nods stiffly, and Peter realizes what Charles just said. That clanging sound he'd heard- Erik had taken off his helmet to let Charles know what had happened. He must have communicated with Charles telepathically to send Hank out. Everyone knew his fear of Charles' power, his fear of leaving his mind unprotected. And he'd done it nearly without a thought for a student he didn't think he had a single connection to other than the breakout. 

"Peter- Peter, stay awake- hey-" Hank's fighting to keep him conscious but he's losing the battle. "Stay with me, you might not wake up if you fall asleep now."

"That's okay," Peter slurs, and then he slumps over and everything goes black again. 

 

 

 

There's no typical blinding light- the sun is actually almost set, and the warm orange hue it emits gently lights the room, showing Peter that he's in his own bed. 

He doesn't expect the restraints. That sends him into an immediate panic, and he fights down a scream in his throat. _Can't move can't move can't move-_

"Hey, hey, it's alright," someone says. It's Charles, and he's sitting on his right in his wheelchair, a book in his hands. "I'll get those off of you, just slow down and breathe so I can get them."

Peter's expression is no doubt still wild and wide-eyed, but he struggles in a breath and lets it out. Charles smiles approvingly and moves over to start on the restraint on Peter's right wrist. It's odd- he doesn't remember there being rails on his bed. 

"You kept getting up and trying to run whilst unconscious," Charles explains as he wheels around to the other side. "We didn't want you to harm yourself further."

There's an IV in his right arm and a couple of IV bags hung by him. He tries not to panic again. 

"What happened?" He asks, his voice coming out rough and raspy.

"We were rather hoping that you could explain," Charles says. "All we know is that Erik found you out back half submerged in water. You're lucky he went in that way- you're suffering from hypothermia at the moment and could have gotten frostbite. Or died." 

"...oh. I...I don't know."

Somewhere deep down Peter knows that he knows what happened, but he's trying not to think about it.

"You've been asleep for two days," Charles informs him, "I'm sure the memory will come back to you once you've adjusted. Hank is still rather concerned with your weight and he's been giving you nutrients via IV."

Peter eyes the IV bags by the head of his bed and suddenly he wants to rip the needle out, wants to destroy the bags and keep anymore of it from entering his body. But he can't. He can't let Charles find out. Charles isn't just a telepath- he's also exceptionally good at reading people from the outside. 

"I couldn't sleep, so I went for a run," Peter says truthfully after a moment. "But then it started raining and I slipped and couldn't get out. I think I was too tired."

Charles frowns. "Well I suppose that that would mean you were in the water for the majority of the night. Your enhanced healing is probably the only reason you're alive right now." 

Peter should feel afraid. He should be in shock at his near-death experience. But he finds instead that he doesn't quite care. It's almost as if he is entirely apathetic toward whether his life continues or is cut short. It's possible- even probable- that he is. He doesn't care. 

"Peter," Charles continues, "I'd like to talk to you about what you said, before you fainted."

 _I didn't faint_ , Peter's internal voice protests with wounded pride. He totally did.

"What did I say?" He asks with a puzzled frown. He doesn't remember that either. 

"You said-"

There's a gentle knock on the door and then it swings open to reveal none other than Erik Lensherr, clad in a black turtle neck and still missing his helmet. He looks surprised when he sees that Peter is awake. Charles smiles at him. 

"Good evening, Erik. Peter woke up about a quarter of an hour ago. Would you mind sitting with him while I fetch Hank? I'm rather afraid that summoning him telepathically while he's playing with his chemicals could end in disaster."

Peter gets the memo. _Have some one on one conversation with your fucking dad, you idiot. Maybe actually fill him in on the fact that he's your dad_. But then he remembers that only Mystique and Hank know, and he doubts Charles has been able to read his mind still. 

The door closes behind Charles and Erik stiffly moves to the chair by the bed. Peter looks at his hands. 

"Did you need to speak with the professor?" He asks finally.

"No," Erik says, not unkindly, "I came to tell him he could go. He didn't want you to wake up alone, so...a few of us have come to sit with you so he could rest."

Peter can't help a small smile at Charles' kindness, but he can't quite fathom the fact that _Magneto_ stood vigil by his bedside. He wants to snicker at the idea but doesn't think it would be polite.

"You- I- thank you." Peter's not sure what to say. "You didn't have to."

Erik's expression softens ( _softens_ ) and he manages a small smile. "I'm happy to do some good," he says.

"What made you...want to help?" Peter asks out of curiosity. 

Erik looks at him for a moment before he seems to conclude that Peter did not mean it in a bad way. "I may have some dubious ideals," he starts with a slight cough, "but my fellow mutants are very important to me. And...I saw a bit of-" 

He stops, and the near-vulnerable look on his face closes up.

"Saw what?" Peter asks. It feels important. 

"A bit of my own desperation, when you woke," Erik says. "But it is a weakness I no longer get the luxury of having." 

Peter isn't sure what to say to that, so they fall silent until Charles returns with Hank.

"Peter," Hank greets, quiet but seemingly happy to see him. "You've improved a little, but of course you actually being conscious is a larger improvement. You had us quite scared there for a little while. Charles took a peek at your head- no thoughts or memories, you're still too fast anyway- and managed to confirm that you had your normal brain activity, so that helped alleviate it a bit..."

He rambles on as he checks things, adjusting the IV and feeling for his temperature. Peter still feels confused.

"Peter informed me that he went for a run when he couldn't sleep and the rain caused him to slip into the pond," Charles says after a while. 

"Why on earth didn't you get back out?" Hank asks. 

Peter can't think of a better answer than "I was too tired to move much," and Erik gives him a sharp look. He doesn't say anything, though, and Peter keeps his fingers crossed. He's not desperate. Erik must have read him wrong. 

 

 

 

He's not allowed to run, he's put on bed rest, and they're pumping him full of nutrients _and_ force feeding him. They give him a little time alone, however, and he uses it to get rid of food when he can. 

Hank still thinks that Peter is just having trouble keeping up with how much he should eat, and lowers the chances of anyone finding out- finding out what? He just doesn't like to eat very much. That's all. It's no big deal. Yknow, nbd. 

He complains that it must be illegal and kicks up a fuss, but it's all in good humor and they all laugh at him. They don't see the little giveaways that he hates being where he is, that he cannot stand to be still. So he doesn't stay still. He's confined to his room, but it's large enough, and the second he's alone he gets up and runs laps around it. He can't go very fast for fear of setting the wood floor ablaze, but it's still exercise. It's still some sort of upkeep. 

Kurt comes to visit, and Peter has to convince him once again that he is _fine_ , just stressed, y'know? Kurt is finally satisfied enough to drop it, but Peter knows he'll need to be extra careful around him for a while. The others visit too- Jean, Ororo, even Scott-  and they play stupid card games and argue about movies and such. 

But it doesn't feel right. He feels himself getting heavier each day in every single sense that he can, and he never liked feeling weighed down. 

Charles seems to know that something is going on, but he's distracted by Erik's rather impromptu visit, and he lets it fall to the wayside for the time being. Erik himself has been nowhere to be found, but Peter isn't surprised. 

Like father, like son. Him and Erik- they were always running from something. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING- graphic descriptions of accidental and self-induced vomiting. Read at your own risk and stay safe, lovelies

Peter can't stop fucking _coughing_. It's an awful cough that rattles in his chest and shakes his entire body, and it's never just one cough. No, he has to suffer through several minutes of hacking and tearing up, and sometimes his breath catches so badly he nearly vomits. He's still stuck in bed, whenever anyone is there to make sure he stays, and he's sick of it. But even the small amount of running he can manage causes dizzy spells, so he decides to let himself take a little time to recover. After all, being in tip top shape does require some rest. 

Hank comes in _six times a day_ with food. Fortunately they leave him in peace to eat so he doesn't consume even a quarter of what he's given. Rest, yes. Indulging? No. He can't completely let go or things will get bad again. He's been feeling lighter and lighter all the time, soon he will be light enough to reach overwhelming speeds. And the next time, he won't screw up. 

Charles finally gets him alone after much stalling, and Peter tries not to panic. His mind is slower than usual and excuses don't roll off his tongue quite so easily at the moment. 

"How are you feeling?" the professor asks kindly.

"A little better," Peter lies, "just some pressure in my head and a little cold."

His body betrays him and throws him into a coughing fit that makes his whole frame shake and tremble with the force of it. His breath rattles in his chest again but he tries to pass it off as the coughing stops. He blinks back the moisture in his eyes from the pain.

Unsurprisingly, Charles appears unconvinced. 

"Hank tells me you'll need at least another week of bed rest," he says. 

Peter splutters. "A _week?_ I can't sit still that long!"

"You have to," Charles says calmly. "It's not just because of the hypothermia- though that was quite serious, don't get me wrong- it's also because your body is struggling to keep up with how frequently you've been using your ability. You've run yourself into the ground, Peter. We're just trying to help you build it back up."

Peter deflates. If he's going to pull off this lie, he has to act like that's what he wants, as if it was all an accident. 

"I know," he says quietly, "I'm sorry. I'm just impatient."

"It comes with your skill set, I would say," Charles quips with a smile. "I'll see what we can do in the way of keeping you entertained."

He's scanning the room as if he's already thinking of activities, and Peter thinks he's gotten away with it, that Charles won't ask, but just then he wheels himself back to Peter's bedside and settles back, looking him square in the eyes. 

"So," he says. "I think we need to talk about what you said before you passed out that day."

Peter remembers, but he wishes he didn't. 

"Which thing?" He asks innocently enough. "I'm sure I said a lot of things. I have a tendency to do that."

Charles looks at him with the sort of look that makes you squirm in your seat because you know you're being read like a book. He's too smart- Peter should have known, after all, he's just some dumb highschool drop out and the professor is a fucking _genius_.

"Death is a serious matter," Charles says quietly. 

"I know," Peter says timidly.

"That's what concerns me."

Peter shifts awkwardly. Then he sighs, trying to act repentant. "It was a stupid moment. I was trying to crack a joke, but all I could get out was a slur. I was fucking freezing."

Charles seems to take no note of his language. "That would be a result of the _hypothermia_ ," he says, his eyebrows doing that half angry, half concerned thing. "You do realize how serious this whole thing is, right? It could happen again. You're still in pretty bad condition."

Peter nods solemnly. "Yeah, had a bit of a scare. Almost made me want to take a break from running. That is, you know, until Hank told me I have to."

The corner of the professor's mouth quirks slightly and he seems to give up and buy it.

"Well, I think you'll find that Hank is quite right. No running, and you need to eat much more than you are currently."

"Sir, yes sir," Peter chants, saluting him sarcastically. 

"Get some rest," Charles says with an amused smile. "You need it."

He's halfway to the door when Peter stops him.

"Has Eri- um, Magneto been around?" He blurts out. Charles pauses. 

"Yes, he has. He inquired after you but had no inclination to visit, it would seem."

Peter deflated a bit. "Oh, okay."

Charles shoots him a concerned look. "Erik is a good man who has been twisted by unimaginable loss. However, I would not make him out to be a role model."

"No, no, I understand," Peter hurries out. "I just- he saved my life."

Charles' eyes soften. "Perhaps if he knew you asked about him, he would stop by." Then he was gone. 

Peter waited a few moments and then ran a thousand laps around the room. 

 

 

 

 

"Lunch!" Hank says cheerfully, setting the tray on Peter's lap. Peter tries to pretend that there isn't a _second tray_ sitting on the table by the bed. There's a protein shake, a large cut of steak, an absolutely enormous bowl of macaroni and cheese, bread and butter, and a large plate of scrambled eggs. There's more, but Peter can't look at it all without his stomach churning. He manages a wobbly smile at Hank who hands him silverware and exits the room. 

Okay, time to dispose of it all.

He's just about to run it to the rather large trash bin out back when there's a knock on the door. 

"Come in?" he says, mentally kicking himself for making it a question. 

He's shocked to say the least when the door opens to reveal none other than Erik Lensherr. He's dressed in jeans and a button up, and Peter doesn't know why but it looks so _weird_. 

"Good afternoon," Erik says awkwardly. "Charles said- he said you might enjoy company."

Peter's specialty is talking everyone's heads off, but right now he's a little at a loss.

"Oh! Yeah, I um...it gets lonely. And boring. I feel like I'm in isolation."

Erik quirks an eyebrow.

"Oh shit. I'm sure it's actually much worse," Peter babbles, "what would I know? I'm just some idiot, you know. It's the ADHD. Which I have. At an unbelievable level."

For a moment, he's certain that he's annoyed the shit out of Erik and that the man will simply turn and leave without another word, but instead he drags up a chair and faces Peter with an amused expression. 

"ADHD, you say?"

"Yeah. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. My ability doesn't mean I can just go fast, it means that everything is moving reeeeaaaallly sloooooowlyyyyy for me and I have to move slowly as well."

Erik looks interested. "That must be extremely frustrating."

"It is. I keep trying to convince Hank that I'll be alright if I move at 'normal' speeds, but he insists that I stay at a regular pace. It would be like finding another sick person and telling them they could only move in slow motion."

"I'm sure that Dr. McCoy has done his research," Erik says seriously. "You nearly died."

Peter fidgets with his fork. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Speaking of which, you should probably eat that before it all gets cold," Erik says, motioning to the food. Peter swears there's a hint of laughter in his eyes as he looks at the large mountains of it.

Peter groans. "The amount of food here must weigh as much as I do," he whines. He's not sure when he started joking around with _Magneto_ , but hey, it's more comfortable that way. 

"So not very much," Erik says. Then he looks a little startled, almost as if he's not sure why he's acting so relaxed with someone he barely knows.

Peter's not sure how he's reading him so well.

"True," Peter says, even though it feels like a joke. He can't filibuster forever, though, so he braces himself and then takes a bite as nonchalantly as possible. Erik's eyes are sharp, and once again Peter feels as if he's being read with ease. 

"It won't kill you. On the contrary, it's quite necessary."

"What?" Peter asks, forcing himself to swallow.

"The food."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Peter says with a tight smile. 

Erik gives him an unimpressed look. "Every time you look at your plate you look ready to vomit."

"I'm...vegan," Peter says lamely and then curses himself. He's usually so much better at lying, but he's distracted.

Erik's expression doesn't change. "You really ought to learn to lie better."

"I'm a little off my game at the moment," Peter snaps, giving up. "I'm quite sick and a little restless if you hadn't noticed."

"Well, you'll never get better if you don't eat. And if you never get better, you'll never get out of this room."

So Erik thinks he's a bad liar? He'll prove him wrong. 

He goes for a visible sag of the shoulders. "I know. I just- I have these awful nightmares now, and they sort of take away my appetite. It's stupid, I know-"

"It's not stupid." 

Peter's a little thrown by that one. 

"What?"

"Nightmares, they aren't stupid. People are led by fear. It guides them. And nightmares are either products of our fears or memories of our fears coming to pass."

"I guess that's true." 

Erik looks torn for a moment, his face closing off and then opening up again. Finally he settles back into the chair and looks Peter in the eyes. 

"Nightmares are either a thing of the past or a thing of the future, for us. For those who have experienced...trauma. So we have several options. Let it go, whether that be to let go of the past or know that the future is not set, or be consumed by fear. Too often I have-" He pauses, looking torn once again. "Too often I have let the fear consume me. I have turned it into hatred and anger. But I have learned that that path leads to destruction greater than we know until too late."

"You sound like Charles," Peter says. 

"Perhaps," says Erik, "perhaps that is not as bad a thing as I once thought."

He looks lost in thought, so Peter digs into his food. He's actually quite hungry, and he nearly enjoys it while he's eating it. 

"I'm not sure why I am so open with you," Erik says after a moment.

"Me neither," Peter shrugs. "Sometimes there doesn't need to be a reason. Maybe the fact that we don't know each other makes it easier."

"Maybe," Erik agrees.

 

 

 

It's so strange to think about, but Erik sits with him for the remainder of his meal. They don't say much else, and it's a bit awkward at times, but Peter thinks that, all in all, it went really well.

He eats everything on the plate under Erik's hawklike gaze, but the second the man leaves, he finds himself bent over the toilet, heaving violently.

It's disgusting. He can see chunks of the various kinds of food he ate, and the color makes him vomit even more. He's sweating by the time he's finished, and he collapses on the floor the moment he's flushed the toilet. 

But he feels cleaned out, empty, like a bird freed from a cage. He's certain he could run even faster if he wouldn't be too dizzy, but he promises himself that once he's gotten over his sickness, he will he. He'll be faster than ever before.

 

 

 

Erik shows up at lunch the next day, and Peter's glad he waited to dump the food. It would have looked strange for it all to be gone so fast when he supposedly had trouble stomaching it due to nightmares.

Erik hovers awkwardly in the doorway, almost looking confused. Then he seems to give up and enters, shutting the door behind him and sitting in the chair Peter wordlessly motions to.

"Back for a shrink session?" He jokes. 

"I think I would be the therapist," Erik says, looking pointedly at how Peter is laid out in the bed. "After all, I'm the one in the chair."

Peter laughs unexpectedly and it causes an alarming coughing fit, but he's still glad he got to hear Erik joking around. It's strange, but it's helping him see what Charles so obviously sees. 

Erik looks genuinely concerned when Peter can't stop coughing, and he stands to grab the glass of water and hands it to him. Peter's eyes are watering when he finally calms down enough to drink, and his breath is rattling in his chest.

"Thanks," he rasps. 

Erik's frowning. "You don't seem much better," he says. 

Peter shrugs. "Hank says I'm weak because I haven't caught up with nutrition yet. But I'm getting there. I got a lot of food in me yesterday."

_It just didn't stay in me._

He keeps that thought to himself. 

Erik looks as though he's trying to appear like he doesn't care, and why should he? Peter's just some random idiot who almost got himself killed by a pond. A _pond_.

Erik's been extremely kind to him so far, though, and Peter really wants to know why. He's not sure how to ask, however, so he remains silent.

"So," Erik says. "Have you ever played chess?"

Peter groans. "Yes, and I'm so bad at it..."

He swears there's a mischievous glint in Erik's eyes when he proposes a game. Peter can't say no, not when Erik seems to be distracted from whatever makes him want to stomp around everywhere looking homicidal, so Erik goes to fetch a chessboard and sets it up on the side of the bed not groaning with the weight of the food Peter is supposed to be eating. 

He can't avoid it, of course, even though they're playing a game, but he tries to stall so that he eats the majority of it right before Erik leaves.

He races to the bathroom, but the food is barely staying down and he wants to scream in frustration. He's _not_ going to give in, he's _not_ going to make himself-

He shoves his finger into his throat and his eyes immediately burn. It's fucking _awful_ and it _hurts_ and nothing even _happens_. But then he steels himself and tries again and suddenly it all rushes up. He yanks his hand out of his mouth, hitting his knuckles on his teeth, and heaves violently into the toilet. 

By the time he's done, his jaw aches and he can't move. But maybe he can float. The room is swimming and he's so, so light, so carefree...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna sound like the dumbest thing in the world, but I'm having a rough time and I love hearing from you guys, so please feel free to leave comments and make my day if you'd like. 
> 
> Also, everyone should look up Moving On by Asking Alexandria because I am fucking obsessed and you probably will be too.

Erik has made his visits a regular thing, and they're actually getting to know each other. Peter's glad he hasn't told him yet because he feels like this way, Erik chose to get close to him. (Well, as close as the man gets to anyone who's name isn't Charles Xavier.) Erik even goes so far as to ensure that Peter is eating his meals, and they exchange descriptions of nightmares from the night before. In a way, it should drag them both down, to hear the horrors the other endures, but letting it out helps Peter feel lighter, and he thinks Erik feels that way as well. 

Erik always seems surprised the more he shares, like he's not sure why he's opened up so much, but Peter finds that they have a lot in common. The only large difference is that Erik takes his anger out and Peter turns his inward. 

The others have visited a bit- Jean, Kurt, Scott, even Raven, but honestly he's not _that_ close with any of them. He enjoys their company and they seem to tolerate him okay, but he's at an awkward age. He's obviously younger than the professor, Hank, Mystique, and Erik, but the others are all teenagers. He's just awkwardly hanging around in his mid to late twenties and wishing he wasn't so out of place. 

He'll find it some day. He's determined. 

 

 

 

Even he gets a little concerned when three more days pass and he doesn't improve at all. His cough is just as bad, and he's struggling to breathe on a daily basis. He wakes up from a nightmare he can't even remember, but he's tangled in the sheets and sweating profusely.

He's only just managed to compose himself when Hank arrives with breakfast. It's a little more than usual, and Peter's stomach does a weird growling sound that doesn't mix with the overwhelming nausea at the smell of the food. 

"You really shouldn't need the IV anymore," Hank says with a frown as he loops Peter over. "It's been a good while."

"I don't know what's wrong," Peter rasps. 

"Me neither." Hank gets lost in thought. "I've gotta find a way to make drugs work for you. Everything moves through too fast. I guess I'll just have to calculate a high dosage."

"Whatever will get me out of this room," Peter jokes. He drinks the water lightning fast and tries to hide the fact that his hands are shaking. 

"I'll work on that today," Hank promises, and then he's gone. 

Peter barely manages to deal with the food. He's entirely out of energy when he flops back on the bed, and he can't run even a single lap around the room. It's okay, he'll take a break one day and be better for the next. It won't make him heavier- will it? 

But even he can't argue with himself on it when the whole room is spinning. 

 

 

 

He's woken up to someone gently shaking him and calling his name. He blearily cracks his eyes open, and finds that he's once again drenched with sweat. He's obviously been thrashing around, and the IV in his arm has been torn out somehow.

"Peter!" Erik says sharply. Peter blinks slowly at him. 

"What?" He drawls out, his mouth barely moving. 

"I'm going to get Hank. You have an extremely high fever. I brought your lunch up for him but obviously you need medical attention."

Peter fades in and out. He tries to nod, but he's pretty sure the action is so delayed it doesn't even happen until Erik is out the door. 

Hank rushes in a few moments later, and he immediately whips out a thermometer.

"Oh shit. He's burning up." 

The IV is adjusted and then there's something cool and wet on his forehead. He nearly groans at the relief. Everything is so hot, he feels like he's on fire. It feels like thawing out all over again. He's not sure what's going on around him. He's barely conscious, but he hears Hank swearing under his breath.

Peter can't help the low whine he lets out, and he immediately feels embarrassed, but Erik just mumbles something to him soothingly. Before, he couldn't imagine Erik and his family, Erik taking care of his young daughter when she was sick or frightened- but lately, he's seen it. Seen the softer side of the man. And he sees it in this moment when Erik is sat on the edge of his bed pressing a cool cloth to his forehead. 

"I'll be right back," Hank says. "I'm going to run some figures really quickly and then get him some meds. He can't wait." Erik nods and then Hank is gone. 

"...burning..." Peter slurs. 

"I know," Erik says gently. "Hank is going to find a way to reduce your fever. I don't know why you've gotten worse."

Peter thinks he knows, but he can't possibly tell anyone. He'll get better, it just might take a little longer. 

The wet cloth is removed and Peter reaches for it.

"I'm going to wet it again," Erik reassures him, and Peter falls back weakly. The room won't stop spinning. Erik disappears into the adjoining bathroom and he hears the sink running. The sound is too familiar, the noise used to cover up what he's doing-

He leans over and vomits on the floor by the bed, retching violently. Nothing comes out but stomach acid.

"Shit!" Erik's composure breaks as he returns and sees Peter. He hurries over and pulls Peter's hair away from his face.

"I'm sorry-" Peter coughs.

"It's alright," Erik says, "just make sure you're done."

When it appears that there's nothing more for Peter to vomit, he helps him settle back in the bed and hands him the cloth to wipe his mouth. Peter's face would flush in embarrassment if he wasn't already feverish. 

He's weak from the fever and vomiting, and he barely sees Hank return before he blacks out.

 

 

 

He feels strange when he wakes up. The burning from the fever is gone, but he feels heavy. Weighted. Something feels off. He's still covered in sweat, but he thinks the fever has broken. 

He sits up and looks around. The trays of food are gone, the vomit has been cleaned up, and Charles is sitting by his bed with a book. 

"Good morning," he says. "Thank god you're awake."

His fingers go to his temple, and Peter guesses he's summoning Hank.

"Morning?" Peter croaks.

"Yes; four days later. You've been out that long."

Peter is reeling. Four _days?_ Why was he out for so long? 

"What?"

"Your fever was so bad, you were delirious. Hank had to give you an extremely high dosage and you still didn't shake it until last night. Your body is worn down. I'm not sure how, but you've taken a hard hit of some sort and you're not recovering well."

Charles levels him with a stare that makes Peter want to spill his secrets, but he can't.

Fortunately, he's saved by Hank barging in.

"Peter! You look better. Well, than you have the past few days."

He checks his temperature and asks him a few questions, but he seems satisfied after a while.

"I think he's finally turning the corner," Hank tells Charles, and Charles nods.

"When do I get to get out of here?" Peter asks. He _is_ feeling a bit better. 

"Oh not for a few more days at least," Hank says. "I've got to keep you on the meds a bit longer, and you couldn't eat the whole time you were out, so we've had to pump you full of nutrients and a saline solution. You'll have to eat solid foods for a bit to get your strength up before you can think about walking, much less using your ability."

"But I can't sit still!"

"Peter." Hank turns serious for a moment and looks him right in the eye. "I was this close to putting a feeding tube in. Actually, I was this close to taking you to an actual hospital. You're in terrible shape. So don't even think about getting up."

Peter nods meekly and Hank seems satisfied. He says something to Charles and then leaves.

"I was not aware that you and Erik had grown so close," Charles says, and Peter's worried he's going to get lectured. 

"He's not- he's not trying to corrupt me. He's actually been quite reasonable, and-"

"Peter," Charles interrupts him with a slight smile. "I think it's been good for Erik. He's been...different. Like he's letting go of some of the darkness in him."

"He's starting to sound like you," Peter says. 

Charles looks quite pleased. "He did admit that I was more correct on some matters than he'd previously believed," he says a little smugly. "It's...it's good."

He gets a dreamy look in his eyes and whoa, Peter does _not_ want to think about that too hard. 

"We kind of just connected," he says to distract himself. "It was weird. We're a little alike."

"Oh really?" Charles asks. 

"Yeah, I uh..." Peter swallows. "He used to know my mom."

"He knew your mother?" 

"Um...quite well."

Charles' eyes widen. "You can't possibly mean-"

"Yeah. Erik is my dad."

Charles looks absolutely shell-shocked, and Peter would find it humorous if the situation wasn't so awkward.

"Does he know?" Charles asks finally. 

"No. I wanted him to get to know me because he wanted to, not because he had to." Peter sighs. "I don't know how to tell him."

"Erik is a good man," Charles says. "And I think he would be happy to know that not everything he has is gone."

"I hope so," Peter says. "Can you- can you tell me about him? From before I knew him."

"I'd be happy to," Charles says.

Peter makes a mental note that talking about Erik is a good way to distract Charles. 

 

 

 

Hank practically force feeds him lunch, and Peter is disappointed when Erik doesn't show up to sit with him during it. Hank leaves shortly after, and Peter makes a valiant effort to stand. He's so shaky, but he braces himself on the bed and takes wobbly steps to the bathroom. Slowly, he inches toward it, letting go of the bed to fall against the door. He gains a little strength by then and manages to get to his knees in front of the toilet without falling. It's a routine by now, shoving his fingers down his throat, and the food comes up easily. 

"Peter, what the _hell_ are you doing?" he hears behind him just as he's shoving his hand in a second time. It's Erik. The older man rushes forward and grasps Peter's wrist, yanking his hand away from his mouth. Peter tries to tear his arm from his grasp, but he's too weak. He's horrified when he bursts into tears, but he can't help it. He's embarrassed and ashamed. The whole room smells horrific and Erik just caught him with his fingers in his throat and it's all so stupid. He's so stupid. 

Erik unwittingly goes into dad-mode, and he pulls Peter to his feet gently and helps him to the sink, where he washes his hands. Peter just slumps against him and cries like a baby, but Erik lets him. 

"Hey, Peter, calm down. It's alright." 

But one of the breaths he sucks in catches wrong, and suddenly he can't breathe at all, he's sobbing and gasping for air and nothing is okay, he's a fucking wreck and Erik is going to hate him. Erik would never want a son like this, someone so fucked up. No one would. 

"Peter, take a deep breath. Hey, look at me."

They're sitting on the floor somehow, and Erik gently turns Peter's face so his panicky eyes meet Erik's. "Breathe with me," his dad says, and Peter heaves in a breath, letting it rattle out of his chest. The next one is too fast again, but Erik gently rubs circles into his back, and the touch helps ground Peter. 

"So that's why you threw up nothing that day," Erik says quietly when Peter has finally calmed down enough to comprehend what he's saying. Peter just slumps. He doesn't know what to say. 

When the silence stretches between them, Erik sighs and reaches over to flush the toilet. Then he pulls Peter to his feet again and helps him to his bed. 

"I'm going to get Charles," he says. 

"No-" Peter reaches out and catches his hand in a weak grasp.

"Peter, he needs to know," Erik says seriously.

"I know, just-" Peter chokes on a sob. "Don't leave me alone."

Erik's face softens, and for a moment his eyes are glassy as if he himself wants to cry, but he doesn't. 

"Alright," he says quietly. "I'll try to reach him telepathically."

He sits in the chair by Peter's bed and doesn't release his hand. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments. I was really encouraged to hear from you all!
> 
> So a question was raised, and it was whether I have suffered an eating disorder, known someone who has, or done research. Well, it's actually all three. A year ago I went through an extremely rough patch where an older friend's boyfriend got a little too comfortable with me and started flirting. He tried to get pictures from me and I refused. In the end, I had to kick him out of my life, and my friend followed, claiming I had treated her poorly. During and after that time, I developed an anxiety disorder and stress starved myself. That slowly became anorexia nervosa and I later developed bulimia. As I began recovering, I did a lot of research and met a girl who is also recovering from anorexia. It's still a huge struggle for me, especially when I've had clinical depression for years, but I'm trying to pull through. 
> 
> I love you all and I hope you stay safe reading this. Let me know if there's any way I can help any of you struggling with any of these issues. 
> 
> Pardon my long note. On to the story!

Peter can't look Charles in the eyes when the man wheels into the room and shuts the door quietly. Erik is still by his side, a hand running circles on his shoulder. 

"Peter," Charles says gently, stopping by Erik. "There's no need to be ashamed."

Peter can't speak, and he's trying not to cry again. He's so pathetic. He _is_ ashamed, because there are much more important things to worry about and he's a boy- no, he's a _man_ , and he's starving himself. 

"I'll let you two have some time," Erik says gently. Peter tries to catch his hand when he stands, but Erik only grasps it for a moment. "I'll come back," he promises. "We can play some chess."

Peter manages a wobbly smile and then Erik is gone, the door shutting with a soft _click_. 

"I don't want to ask you any questions that make you uncomfortable," Charles starts, "but I'm afraid that this is too important to tread too softly with."

Peter finds himself looking down at his hands and fidgeting to avoid Charles' eyes. 

"Okay," he says dully. He feels numb, like he's floating in water without moving a muscle or feeling a thing.

"How long have you been doing that?"

"Doing what?" Peter asks, because he's a little shit and he's feeling irrationally angry. He's not sure who he's angry with, but he is.

Charles sighs. "How long have you been making yourself throw up?"

"Since I got sick."

"Not before?" Charles _hms_  to himself. "I thought maybe it was why you got so sick."

Peter absently notes that the veins are popping out in his hands. It looks kind of cool. His fingers look more slender, which is something he hadn't noticed before.

"Peter," Charles says quietly but firmly. "I need you to talk to me."

"I am."

"I need you to be a little more open."

"I'm sorry if I don't really feel like spilling my guts to you," Peter snaps. "It's my business."

"If you are struggling with a mental illness, and I suspect that you are, you may not be in the best condition to look after yourself, so no. It's not entirely just your business." Charles doesn't seem happy and Peter almost feels guilty. Almost. "So, the self-induced vomiting is new. Have you been starving yourself?"

Peter flinches. "No."

" _Peter_."

When he looks up, Charles' eyes are unbelievably kind, and his own start to fill with tears. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want to be sick, he wants to tell Charles everything-

" _No_." Peter panics. "You're in my head! You're making me want to tell you- you're messing with me!"

Charles' eyes widen. "No, Peter, I'm not-"

"Get out of my head!" 

And then he's gone. He can't breathe, panic has him in an ice cold grip and he's sobbing, fighting for breath. 

"Erik!" Charles calls, but Peter can't see him. Everything is a blur, he's trying to move, to get away.

He tries to get away, but the panic messes with his head, and when he goes to run, his legs give out the second he's up and he collapses onto the floor. That snaps him out of it, and he goes still before bursting into tears. 

The door flies open, but he can't see over the bed. 

"Shit, _Peter_ ," he hears Hank's voice. Then gentle hands reach for him cautiously.

"Peter, are you alright?"

It's Erik. For some reason, Erik is the only thing that feels familiar right now.

He wants to answer, he really does, but he can't speak through his sobs, so he curls in on himself.

"Peter, may I touch you?" Erik asks gently. Peter manages a shaky nod, and Erik sits on the floor by him and carefully rubs a hand in circles on his back. When Peter's shoulders slowly loosen, Erik pulls him into a sitting position and then pulls him into a hug. 

It should feel weird. It at least shouldn't feel so much like home, like the father Peter never had, like the rock solid foundation he never had to grow up on, but it does. He doesn't have to be anything, he's safe. 

Erik is still rubbing circles on his back when Peter has completely calmed down. Peter glances at Charles to see the man watching them almost curiously, but with tears in his eyes. Hank is hovering awkwardly in the background. 

"Any better?" Erik asks. Peter nods, trying not to feel embarrassed. He wants to sink into the floor.

"Lets get him back into bed," Charles says. Erik stands up and then lifts Peter easily, as if he is a child. 

Peter doesn't realize he's freezing until Erik tucks the blankets around his shoulders. He feels oddly comforted when he sits on the edge of the bed instead of leaving.

"Perhaps you should be the one to talk to him," Charles tells Erik before turning to Peter. "I assure you, I was not inside your head at all. I wouldn't want to betray your trust even if I could read your mind."

Peter flushes. "I'm sorry," he says. He feels worn out and apathetic. 

"Don't worry about it," Charles says kindly. "We are all simply concerned about you. We care about you."

"Peter." Erik's voice is firm. "Have you been starving yourself?"

"I..." No, he wants to say. _I've just skipped a few meals_. But that's not true.

Erik seems to read his face.

"How about I ask you yes or no questions and you can just nod of shake your head?"

Peter's shoulders slump in relief and he nods. 

"Okay. Did you ever eat when you weren't with someone?" 

Peter hesitates and then shakes his head. Erik's mouth turns into a thin straight line, but he doesn't comment. Hank subtly moves to put Peter's IV back in. 

"Did you only eat when I sat with you for lunch?"

A nod. 

"Did you throw up every time after I left?" 

Another nod. Erik swears under his breath and suddenly looks very tired.

"Erik-" Charles starts.

"It's alright." Erik silences him gently. "Peter, were you running every night when you got sick?"

Peter considers lying, but something compels him to nod. 

"Were you running a lot?" 

He nods.

"Can you try to answer this verbally? How much were you using your ability?"

Peter hesitates. His throat works but nothing comes out. Then, "whenever I had time."

"So nearly all the time," Charles says frustratedly. 

"That's why he's not getting better," Hank says quietly to Charles, probably thinking Peter can't hear. Charles looks at Hank and they seem to have a telepathic conversation. Then Hank nods.

"Erik, a word, please," Charles says. Erik pats Peter's hand and then follows Charles into the hallway. 

Hank seems to sense that Peter doesn't want to talk, so he looks him over in silence, checking his temperature and adjusting the flow of his IV. Peter just stares blankly at the wall.

 

 

 

Erik doesn't seem happy when he and Charles return. Peter freezes up when he sees that Erik has floated a scale into the room and let it settle onto the floor by the bed. 

"I need to know how much you weigh," Hank says awkwardly. Peter just stares at him. 

"No."

"Peter," Erik warns, and Peter's too tired to argue. He lets Hank help him sit up and turn, then stands on shaky legs. They don't bother removing his clothes. 

Hank lets out a tiny gasp at the numbers, but Peter's too tired to read the scale.

"101.6 pounds." 

"Oh my god." Charles huffs out a breath. "What was he before?"

"Around 145 pounds, and he was light then. He's lost weight at an alarming rate."

Peter would be offended at them talking like he's not there, but he doesn't actually feel all there. He wants to sleep.

"I suppose you're right," Erik says stiffly to Charles. "It seems like the only option."

Then he storms out of the room. 

"W-what option?" Peter asks as Hank helps him back into bed.

"Peter," Charles says in the tone you use to break bad news to a child. Peter panics.

"What?" He asks, his voice cracking. 

"We can't trust you not to use your powers to keep harming yourself like this. You're in a very bad spot mentally and we want to help."

Peter stares at Charles uncomprehendingly as Hank injects him with something. He doesn't understand what he's saying. 

"We're going to put you on Hank's drug for a little while to suppress your powers," Charles explains. 

" _What?_ " Peter is wide awake now. "No- no, you can't! I have to get faster!"

"Peter, hey, it's alright," Hank tries to calm him, but it only makes Peter more panicked. 

"I can't slack off!" he cries. 

"It's for the best," Charles says calmly. "I'm really sorry, but you need our help. You'll kill yourself if you continue like this."

"I won't let you," Peter hisses at him. "I'll leave, I don't need your help."

"It's too late anyway," Charles says. "Hank gave you a dose already."

Perer looks down at the tiny hole in his arm in horror. Hank looks guilty, standing just out of reach with a syringe.

Ice floods through Peter's veins and he falls silent for a moment which only makes Charles look worried. 

"Get out," Peter says icily. 

"Peter, it's for your own good-" 

"I said get out! Just- just leave me alone." 

Hank pats him gently on the shoulder as they leave, and a tiny bit of guilt pricks Peter's conscience, but he pushes it away. 

He breaks down the moment the door has closed behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Peter's extreme amounts of weight loss are due to his ability making him lose it extra fast. Realistically it takes much longer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING- SELFHARM. Please stay safe.

Peter doesn't acknowledge Hank when he brings dinner. Hank doesn't seem surprised, but he does look sad enough that Peter almost wants to say something. But he's a stubborn asshole and one hundred percent his father's son, whether his father knows it or not, so he says nothing. 

They don't push the food on him, so it simply grows cold on the tray, even though they actually lessened the amount and found healthier foods. He's got nothing to do but stare at the wall and think about what a fuck up he is. He can still smell the food by him an hour later and it makes his stomach churn, but he can't move to throw it out and he doesn't know when Hank will be back. 

Another agonizing half hour passes, and suddenly he wonders if they were bluffing. Maybe they're just trying to trick him into thinking they've taken his ability away from him. Maybe he can still run. Sure, his thoughts have slowed down, but that could just be from being sick. 

Slowly, he pushes himself up on trembling arms. They're shaking under his weight (oh god, is he that heavy?) and it's a struggle to get up. Once he's sitting up, he has to wait for his head to clear before he can swing his legs over the edge of the bed and stand. His legs are trembling as well, but it's fine, it's okay, he just needs a second. He feels a slight tug in his arm and looks down in disgust at his IV. All the nutrients- the calories going into him- make him shudder. He yanks it out without a second thought and the sharp pain cuts through the fog in his head like a knife. Suddenly his vision clears and he can _think_. He can't help a slight breathless gasp at the feeling. It feels...like clarity. 

He shakes his head and tries to focus on the task at hand. He can still run. They didn't take his powers, right? It's okay, he can still be fast. He braces himself, ready to run a couple laps. He's panting already, but it's fine. He sets his jaw, maps out a course, and takes off. 

He stumbles a few feet and then collapses onto the floor.  

_No, no, no, no-_

Then he bursts into tears, curling in on himself and sobbing like his heart is breaking. He's nothing without it, he's broken and useless. He didn't deserve it, they knew he didn't so they took it away. 

The sharp pain in his arm brings him back to reality, and he realizes it's bleeding onto the floor. It's good, he suddenly loves it. Pain, he deserves pain. He needs more. But how?

Razor. He's got a razor in the bathroom. 

He has to crawl across the floor to the bathroom and then pull himself up against the sink with shaky arms. His vision is swimming again when he reaches into the cabinet and pulls the razor out, and he can't see very well when he tries to break it. 

It's an agonizingly long five minutes that he fights with the razor, and when he finally gets a blade out, his fingers are slick with blood. The worst of the little cuts are on his left hand, so he takes the small blade in his right and slides down to the floor, his back against the sink. His hands _won't stop shaking_ and he almost screams in frustration. He's nearing a panic attack, his breaths coming in short gasps, and he just wants it to stop, he wants it to be _quiet_ - 

Silence.

He'd just gone for it, a slice right down his left wrist, and suddenly it's all he's thinking about. His mouth falls open in a silent gasp as the blood wells up and drips. It's a beautiful red, the most beautiful color he thinks he's ever seen. And it's there because he wanted it to be. _He_ put that blood there, _he_ made that cut. It's so neat and precise in spite of his carelessness. He wants more.

He sets the blade against his skin about a half inch to the left and carefully drags the blade down to make the cut match the first. 

" _Shit_ ," he breathes, but it's so good. More blood. He makes another cut, then another. He needs even more blood. Now it's too neat, it's too clean. He needs a mess, he needs chaos, he needs disorder and no control-

And then reality kicks in and he falls down from his high to see the mess he's made. His arm is a mangled, multilated patch of skin. There's so much blood, and it's stained his shirt and his pants, dripping onto the floor. He feels nauseous when he looks at it, and he just wants that high back, just wants that floating, euphoric feeling-

"Oh my god- _Peter!_ " 

The blade flies out of Peter's shaking fingers and crumples in midair before falling to the floor at Erik's feet. 

Oh shit, _Erik_. 

Peter launches right into a full blown panic attack and his hand flies up to push into the mass of cuts on his arm.

"Peter, no-" Erik flies forward and grasps his wrist, tearing his arm away. Peter can't breathe, can't see- his lungs hurt in a bad way and his arm hurts in a good way and he's so confused, he doesn't know what's going on.

"I'm sorry, _I'm sorry-_ " he doesn't realize he's crying until he has to gasp around his sobs. 

Erik's pulling him up, leaning Peter's back against his chest and then pushing his arm into the sink. 

Peter gasps when the water hits his arm, mixing with the blood and swirling down the sink in a brownish color. His crying is quieter now, just a few hiccups and his shaking shoulders. 

"Hank is on his way," Erik says quietly, and Peter doesn't protest, even though he's so tired of this, so tired of being looked over and scolded and told he's a mess. He _knows_. 

The bleeding is sluggish, but it won't stop, and Peter sees Erik frowning at it in the mirror. The blood washes away enough to show dozens and dozens of cuts, and for a moment the older man looks as if he's going to cry, but then the moment is gone and he sighs. 

"Why did you do this, Peter?"

"I...I don't know." Peter's lip is trembling and he bites it. He clenches his fist and more blood flows from his wrist. Erik gently pulls his fist open to relax his arm and Peter gives up and lets him.

Erik sighs. "Come on, let's get you to bed." He dries Peter's arm with a hand towel and then rests it on the towel so it won't drip on the floor. Then they start the long journey back to the bed.

Hank's eyes are huge when he sees them.

"Oh my god," he breathes when he catches sight of the state of Peter's arm. Peter can't look either of them in the eyes, so he just falls back onto the pillows and lets Erik hold his arm out for Hank to examine. Hank mutters a few things to Erik, and the older man's eyebrows knit together in concern. 

Peter's feeling so weak and he can tell he's pale. He can never seem to stay awake and now his eyes are sliding shut again.

He gives up and lets it happen, hoping that maybe they'll just leave him to bleed out and die.

 

 

 

The first thing he does when he wakes up is reach for the IV.

"Fucking _hell_ , Peter!" Erik spits out, lunging for his wrist. He yanks Peter's hand away and easily pins it down. 

"Let go of me!" Peter fights him, trying to pull his arm away. 

Erik glares at him for a moment before he pulls out one of the straps that is still hanging on the bed rail and restrains Peter's right arm. Peter just lets out a scream of frustration and tugs as hard as he can before he glares right back at Erik. 

"Get out," he says coldly. 

Erik raises an eyebrow. 

"No."

"I said _get out!_ " Peter's temper is flaring hot but Erik seems unaffected. 

"I'm here to make sure you don't injure yourself, so I can't possibly."

"So you're just gonna babysit me?" Peter sneers. 

"While you require it, yes," Erik says calmly. 

For a moment they simply stare at each other, but when Peter realizes Erik isn't going to back down, he gives up. 

He tries to turn over so his back is to his father, but his arm catches on the restraint and he grits his teeth to keep from screaming again. 

"Peter."

"What?" he hisses, glaring over his shoulder. 

"We simply want what's best for you." 

Peter deflates. They're just trying to help him. They don't see that he's alright, that he's simply trying to make himself better. 

"I know," he says, voice cracking. He clears his throat and turns over to face Erik again. "But I'm fine."

Erik doesn't even bother to disguise his shock. "You're- what?"

"I'm fine. I'm just a little sick and tired."

Erik looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Peter. You're far from fine."

"I'm just trying to be better," Peter says softly.

"Better how?" Erik asks him. Peter sighs.

"I was too slow- I'm always too slow. I need to be faster. I have to get even faster every single time, I have to break my record every day. I'll never be fast enough-" he chokes. 

"When were you too slow?" 

"Scott's brother, catching up with- with my dad, Apocalypse- I keep screwing up because I'm not fast enough."

Erik looks so tired. "I think we all have that feeling, Peter. We've all had times when we feel as if we weren't good enough- whether that means we were too slow or too weak or even just too proud. I am sorry you were forced to grow up so quickly. In many ways you're still just a kid, but we mutants don't remain children for long, do we?"

Peter's not sure what to say, so he merely shakes his head and looks at the ceiling. He's too tired to sit up.

"Why did you think that harming yourself would help?" Erik asks softly.

Peter glances down at his left arm. It's bandaged from his wrist up to the inside of his elbow where the IV is still in. 

"It did help," he says. "It made everything stop."

"Only for a moment," Erik says. Peter hates that he's right.

"A moment is enough," he says stubbornly. "It's not like it's hurting anyone else."

"But that's not actually true," Erik tells him. "Everyone here has come to care about you."

"Then why doesn't anyone visit..." Peter mutters. Erik hears him anyway. 

"Charles hasn't decided what to tell them yet," he says. "He doesn't want to betray your privacy, but he fears that several of the problems will be rather obvious on sight. I believe he's planning on discussing it with you later."

Peter's not sure what to say to that. He's too tired to really care. One question bugs him, though. 

"Do you care about me?" he asks, halfway asleep but determined to wait for an answer. 

Eric pauses, looking quite taken aback. Then he gently pats Peter's hand. 

"Yes," he says, "I suppose I do." 

"Good," Peter slurs tiredly, "cause I care about you. Even though you're stupid."

Erik gives him a small smile.

 

 

 

Peter finds that Erik never took off the restraint. It stays on when Charles comes to sit with him, and it seems that Erik fused the metal of the clasp to the bed so that Peter couldn't unfasten it. 

Peter pretends to listen to Charles weigh the pros and cons of telling the other students the truth while he catches the IV on the side of the bed and pulls it out. Charles is replaced by Hank who is quiet the entire time. Peter pretends to read a book and tries to ignore the itch in his wrist. At least he's not getting anymore nutrients pumped into him unwillingly.

He tries not to be too happy when it's Erik's turn to sit with him. He hates that they take shifts and waste their time, but he enjoys being around the older man. He tries to stay mad, but he discovers that the restraint will scrape his wrist if he pulls on it a certain way, so he does that whenever whomever is sitting wth him is looking away. 

Erik reads him too well and immediately checks the IV. He doesn't say a word, just deftly puts it back in and sits down again. Peter waits a bit and then tries again.

"Peter," Erik warns. Okay, so wait until it's Charles' shift again. 

But the nutrients feel like too much. He feels heavy, he's never going to be fast now. He needs to get rid of it. 

He waits until Erik looks down at his book and then shoves his fingers down his throat and vomits over the side of the bed. 

Erik swears at him again. 

"Godammit Peter, just stop trying to destroy yourself for one day!" 

Peter just heaves again, dripping stomach acid over his lips. Even if he could talk, there'd be nothing to say. 

He does feel a little bad when Erik has to clean it up. He changes his mind when Erik restrains his other arm. 


	8. Chapter 8

After a while, Erik realizes he can't keep the restraints on Peter. He does remind him, however, that Peter has no way to hide it if he makes himself throw up again. He can't sit up, much less clean up vomit. Peter tells himself that it will all be okay once he's better. Then he'll be able to throw up all he wants. He's just weak from being sick. 

He's rarely alone. He spends his time staring at the wall and trying to pretend that he doesn't sleep much more than he should. He can't seem to stay awake, actually, and it might worry him if he actually gave a shit about himself. 

He feels as if his whole existence is miserable. He's fucked everything up. What if he stays like this forever, with an IV pumping nutrients into him in an attempt to avoid a feeding tube, and a babysitter? What if he continues to waste everyone's time? He hates himself. He wishes he would die, but they're just barely keeping him intact. He's not even different anymore; his ability is gone, and with it, his purpose.

He feels uncomfortable under Charles' gaze. Perhaps the man can read him now- well, let him read. Maybe he'll take pity on Peter and let him go, let him dispose of the calories in his body or maybe even his life. Whatever he has the energy for. 

"Peter," Charles says softly. "You should talk to someone."

Peter continues staring at the wall. He doesn't want to hurt the professor, he actually quite likes him. He just doesn't know what to say. 

"What makes you want to do this to yourself?"

Charles sounds so sad that Peter actually turns to look at him. The man is genuinely upset and Peter has no idea how to react. 

"I..." The words die on his tongue.

"When did this start?"

That's a slightly confusing question. "Which-which thing?" Peter asks, his voice raspy from lack of use. 

"Your extremely low opinion of yourself," Charles explains. He wheels his chair closer and gently adjusts the IV. Peter inwardly groans. He'd almost slipped it out.

"I've just never really liked myself." He shrugs. "Too much. I'm just too much for everyone."

"You are not 'too much,'" Charles says sharply. "You are precisely what you need to be- you are you. None of us have found you to be 'too much.'" 

"So you're saying you never found me annoying?" Peter asks, but it's not really a question. "The fast talking, the ADHD, the fake confidence..."

"I won't lie," Charles says, "you can be a bit of a douche. But guess what? So can I. In fact, I'm quite douchey. Erik is nearly an expert in it himself. Hank is annoyingly not-douchey- there's a flaw."

"But-"

"How about this- Mr Summers is particularly hot-tempered. Goes well with his...skill set. And poor Mr Wagner, the moment he feels frightened or awkward? He's gone. Sometimes we lose him for hours."

"Why are you doing this?" Peter asks, frustrated. "They all have their good points too."

"Oh, I'm sure. But what about all of those bad points?"

Peter grits his teeth. What the hell is the professor's problem?

"Scott may have an ego problem but he's not going to hurt anyone because of it," he protests. "Kurt does get scared easily, but that just means he's braver than all of us. He was willing to try something he thought was impossible to save us! And Erik may be douchey at times but he's been through hell."

"And me?" Charles smirks like he's heard exactly what he wanted to.

"Well normally I would say the same for you, but right now you're being quite a douche," Peter says sullenly.

"So explain this," Charles says, appearing unaffected. "All of that negativity. Was it right?"

"Partly. But it wasn't all true and it wasn't as big of a deal as you made it seem," Peter says, glowering. 

"And there was even more good to be found. You didn't get into nearly all of it, right?"

"I guess..." Peter is still confused. 

"So then why, when it comes to yourself, do you focus so strongly on the bad and the bad alone? And why do you believe everything your mind tells you?"

"Because I know myself best and it is up to me to fix my flaws."

Charles sighs. "I don't believe that we always know ourselves best. Occasionally we are too close to the problem. Erik spent years chasing the man he thought he was, only to discover through us the man he truly was. As for the flaws you mention, some are merely personality traits, and some aren't there at all. It is up to us to fix flaws such as an overly quick temper or an inclination to destroy- not to change every imperfect aspect of our being."

"I'm not fast enough," Peter says quietly. 

"Peter, you are many things, but I don't believe anyone could argue that you are slow," the professor says with an amused smile.

"But I am! I didn't catch up to my dad, I didn't save Scott's brother, Apocalypse caught up with me _easily!_ And I don't even have my ability now. I'm nothing, I'm just this useless fuck up with nothing to offer!"

Charles is completely taken aback by his outburst and Peter immediately clamps his mouth shut and tries to force himself to breathe when he feels a panic attack coming on. 

"You are _not_ a fuck up, Peter," he says with conviction. "I promise to you that you are not. You are an extremely talented young man, and I'm not just talking about your ability. You have a lot of potential."

"I can't even walk right now," Peter says bitterly. 

Charles raises an eyebrow. 

Oh _shit_. Peter is the worst. He is the _absolute worst_. He can't believe he's here bitching about being slow to a man who is paralyzed from the waist down. 

"I- I'm so sorry." He fumbles for words. "I'm so fucking sorry, that was just awful-"

Charles cuts him off with a raised hand. "I understand. And fortunately, my condition does not affect ability. Well, other than when I let it. But hear me in this- you are not a fuck up."

"I'm lying in a bed with an IV in my arm and my left forearm entirely bandaged. I can't walk to the bathroom and I want to throw up."

"I didn't say you aren't screwed up. I said you aren't _a_ screw up. There is a difference."

"What?" Peter feels lost. 

"You may be sick, but that is not who you are. It isn't your identity. It's merely a small part of you."

"I know I'm sick, but what-"

Charles cuts him off again. "You are mentally unwell."

"You mean crazy," Peter scoffs. 

"No, I mean that you are trying to cope with feelings of guilt and fear, and your mind is just as frightening a place as that of everyone else. When I was feeling abandoned with no one but Hank by my side, not to discredit the poor man, I turned to drugs. The very drug in your system that you feel has wiped your identify, in fact. That and alcohol. It got me nowhere, even though I thought it was helping at first."

Peter is too tired for this. "What's that got to do with me?" He asks.

"Peter, being thinner does not make you faster. Pain does not help you think more clearly. Both of those are in your mind and your mind alone. Those abilities are trapped inside your head and you let them out when you want to, not when you've done enough of this or that. Erik himself learned an important lesson about strength- pain and anger can make you strong, but nothing makes you stronger than the good in you. And it's there, I promise."

"But what if it's not?" Peter asks, his voice shaky.

Charles smiles at him sadly. "You are in this bed right now because the fear of letting others get hurt moved you to destroy your body. A bad outcome, yes. But the intentions are beyond admirable. We all see it. Erik has become a changed man because of it."

"What?" Peter asks, confused. 

"You've softened him up," Charles says with a small chuckle. "He wasn't even going to stay this long, but now he can't make himself leave."

A tiny spark of happiness flares in Peter's chest. Erik really cares about him? He makes Erik want to stay?

"I'm sure it's just an excuse," he says to Charles. "I'm not blind, by the way, he digs you pretty well too."

"He what?"

A baffled Charles is a humorous sight and Peter laughs quietly. "He's 'rather fond' of you as well."

"Oh, we have some history together. As friends." Charles trips over his words. "We've known each other too long to be...indifferent toward one another. Erik is somehow still one of my closest friends."

"He totally digs you," Peter mutters under his breath again. It's so weird to think about, Erik and Charles. It's like some tragic romance with star crossed lockers or something. It's disgustingly awkward and cute. 

"I'm not sure how we got on this topic," Charles says, pretending to be unaffected. "My point still remains."

"Mine too," Peter snarks. Charles would probably roll his eyes if it wasn't undignified. Peter snickers at the mental image.

"Well I believe Hank should be here any moment," Charles says briskly. "But we'll continue this conversation at another time." 

"That we will," Peter says cheerily. Charles tries to look ruffled but he smiles as the door closes behind him. Peter feels a little better.

 

 

 

Dinner lines up with Erik's visit, and he brings it up looking quite determined. Peter's a stubborn asshole as well, however, and is unaffected when Erik sets the tray on his lap. Peter merely picks it up and sets it on the table by his bed before picking up his book again. 

"Peter." Erik's voice is a warning. "You need to eat."

"I've got the IV," Peter says absently, pretending to be quite interested in his book. He doesn't even remember what it is. Something Verne. 

"That's barely enough to keep a feeding tube out of your throat," Erik says menacingly.

"So it's just enough." Peter shrugs.

Erik sets his jaw. A couple of months ago that might have made Peter a little scared, but now he knows better. Erik's secretly a big softie. Even though right now he looks downright homicidal. 

"Eat your dinner."

"I'm not five," Peter shoots back, "I'm an adult, actually, I can handle myself."

"Obviously not," Erik says. "If you can get out of that bed and walk to the bathroom and back, I'll let you out of dinner."

Peter glares at him. Erik glares back. 

"Fine," Peter spits. "You have yourself a deal."

"The IV stays in." 

"Fine," Peter says again. Then he tosses his book aside and sweeps the blankets off. 

 _Fuck_ , it's cold. It takes tremendous effort to swing his legs over the side of the bed, and Erik already looks smug. It only fuels Peter's determination, however, and he pushes himself up to his feet where he sways for a moment, praying his vision will clear. He pinches his bandaged wrist where Erik won't see and sighs with relief as the blurry edges fade. 

"Are you going to stand there forever or walk?" Erik says. Peter scoffs at him. 

"I'm walking, I'm walking. Don't get your panties in a knot."

Erik says nothing to that, and Peter takes his first step, wobbling a little but still upright. He has to pull the stupid IV stand with him but on the second step it turns out to be a blessing as he leans on it for support as subtly as possible. 

"That's cheating," Erik says. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Peter retorts. He takes a few more steps and pretends his legs aren't trembling violently. It's an agonizingly slow journey, but he reaches the bathroom door.

"Surprised you got that far," Erik comments.

"Well, I made it, so you can just get rid of that food," Peter pants. 

Erik shakes his head. "You have to get back to the bed too, remember?"

Peter slumps over. "Wha-? Godammit."

But he's Peter Maximoff and still a stubborn asshole, and not even his _dad_ is going to outdo him in stubborn pride. So he turns around and takes another trembling step, smiling triumphantly when he makes it another two steps without incident. 

He's panting pretty badly, though, and his vision starts going black.

"Peter." Erik sounds concerned. "Peter, just give it up."

"Nope," Peter says through gritted teeth. "I'm almost there." 

"You're barely halfway across the floor."

"And three-quarters of the way through my journey," he says, reconsidering it when he nearly commits to another step. He just needs a second and then he'll be fine. 

"Peter," Erik says again, sounding genuinely worried. "You're over-exerting yourself."

"Nonsense, it's just walking. How hard can it be?" Peter laughs, taking another step.

His legs tremble violently and then give out beneath him, and he crumples to the floor. Erik is on his feet in the blink of an eye.

"No, I'm fine," Peter tries to stop him. "I'll get up and finish it-"

Erik ignores his protests and leans down to scoop him up into his arms. "Shut up, you idiot."

Peter tries to scowl, but he's really not feeling well and he feels like vomiting. He can't see very well, but he hears the scrape of the IV stand's wheels on the floor behind them and feels the softness of the bed when Erik sets him back in it. He folds the blankets around Peter, and the younger man welcomes the warmth. 

"I'm not gonna eat it," he slurs tiredly.

"Aren't you a man of your word?" Erik asks. 

"But you...cheated. I was gonna...gonna get back up and finish..."

"You were going to pass out, that's what," Erik says sharply. 

Peter shoots up in bed and vomits over the side of the rail.

"Dammit!" Erik catches him as he sways. "I'm a fucking idiot. You've overexerted yourself. I never should have pushed you to do that." 

He keeps talking as he settles Peter back down and grabs a towel to clean up the dismally small amount of vomit. It's only a little stomach acid because that's all there was in Peter's stomach.

"That- that wasn't on purpose," Peter tries to explain.

Erik sighs. "I know. It's my fault, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault I'm a stubborn asshole," Peter tells him sleepily. 

"Maybe not, but it's my fault that I'm one as well," Erik says, looking almost...fond? No, Peter's just too tired to read him right. 

Peter barely catches himself before he says something stupid like _it must run in the family_. 

 

 

 

Erik practically force feeds him some food when he wakes up. Peter's still stubborn enough to only eat five bites, but Erik seems almost happy, and Peter's torn between feeling like he lost their stupid pigheaded competition and not caring because he likes to see Erik smile. 


	9. Chapter 9

Hank tries to keep Peter from seeing the number on the scale but really, it can't be helped. He's standing on it, how could he _not_ see?

He's gained three pounds. _Three pounds_. He's not even really eating anything, but the lack of exercise is catching up.

"Shit." Hank sighs as he helps Peter back into bed. "Peter, that's a good thing. It's such a good thing."

Peter just mutely shakes his head. Why does he want to cry? How pathetic is he? It's just a few pounds. But it's also 'just a little' slower. It's also 'just a little' room for mistakes. He'll always be too slow. He would have been fine if he hadn't fallen into the pond, but he did, and now he's been caught and he'll never be good enough. He's going to fuck up again at some point, and then everything will be pointless. It already _is_ pointless. He's already fucked up, and he'll _never_ be better.

Then suddenly he's freaking the _fuck_ out. 

"Peter," Hank says sharply, but it's laced with concern. Peter gasps in a breath, his whole body trembling as he curls up. He's such a fuck up, he's so stupid, he's just wasting everyone's time and energy and he's never going to get better- not at running, not from being sick. He's always going to be _too slow too slow too slow-_

" _Peter_." 

Charles is in his head, and it doesn't calm Peter down one bit. What if Charles can see now? What if he knows everything Peter's been thinking?

He can't think about the professor finding it out without thinking about it, and suddenly it's the foremost thought in his head.

_I want to die I want to die I want to die._

It won't stop, and all the different ways he could do it flood to the front, slitting his wrists, jumping off the tower, hanging himself. 

" _ **Peter!**_ "

He stops mid thought and stares at Charles with frantic eyes. Charles looks stricken. 

"I-I'm sorry-" Peter can't catch a breath. He's trying so hard, but it just won't work. "Were you in my head?"

Charles looks like he can't even speak. Then, "Peter...you should have said something."

"You were in my head!" Peter's response to sympathy is to lash out, and he doesn't quite know why, but he can't help it. It deflects and distracts people.

"I was merely communicating until you projected so loudly I couldn't ignore it. How long have you been thinking like that?"

"Stay the hell out of my head!" Peter yells at him instead of answering. He's terrified, suddenly. Why is he so afraid? He doesn't want anyone to know, he doesn't want them to see how badly he's fucked up.

"Peter," Charles says firmly. "Stop deflecting."

"Then stop invading my privacy," Peter shoots back at him. "I want to be alone."

"I can't let that happen," Charles says softly. "You're obviously not well, we can't let you be alone."

"I want peace," Peter says, hating how his voice went from angry to soft and cracking with emotion. "I want to be left alone."

"It won't be peaceful if we leave," Charles tells him. "You'll just be thinking more, and right now you're in no state to be left alone with your thoughts."

Peter's face hardens and he stares at Charles for a moment. When he realizes that the older man won't be going anywhere anytime soon, he merely turns over to hide from his gaze. He wants to die.

"Peter..."

"Fuck off."

Maybe if he's enough of an asshole they'll let him off himself. 

 

 

 

Charles tends to stay with Peter during the night more than during the day as he has classes to teach. Hank has begun teaching as well, and that leaves Peter with Erik for a large portion of the day. How strange is it that the man he was once so afraid of now watches over him to make sure he's safe?

Peter wants to hate them all. He doesn't even know why, he just gets irrationally irritable and snaps at everyone and then finds himself ready to cry. He doesn't know what's wrong with him. He used to be a pretty happy kid, even though he was so _weird_. 

He tells Mystique as much when she randomly shows up for a shift with him. He hasn't seen her since he passed out, but Charles got Peter's sullenly apathetic permission to fill people in on the basics, and now they've come to see him here and there. They couldn't before, but Peter hadn't expected them to once they could. 

"We were all happier as kids," Raven says, pulling up a chair and flashing him a smile. Peter doesn't smile back.

"I guess so," he says dully.

"We got smart," she continues. "Maybe it's a large price to pay for blissful ignorance, but it also means we know so much more. We've learned so much more. And that's pretty cool sometimes."

"Maybe," Peter mutters.

"You know, I'm used to dealing with angry little rain clouds. You're not gonna push me away with the bitter old man act."

Peter shrugs. "More pain for you if you care, I guess. Not my problem."

Raven glares at him. "It'll be your problem when I bring you back from the dead to punch you in the face. Don't be a fucking idiot, Maximoff. You aren't going anywhere. We all care about you."

"Maybe in the weird way you care about the crazy person but also want them gone because they're such a pain," Peter says bitterly.

"I'm not gonna say you're not crazy," Raven says, examining her nails. She sticks a finger in her mouth to chew on a nail. "But yknow, you're not the only one. I'm a little off my rocker myself." She flashes him a manic grin and he manages a small smile. She's not wrong there.

"I'm nothing without my ability," he says quietly. "I feel so pathetically useless."

"Okay one, not true." Raven pulls her hand out of her mouth and spins her chair around to sit on it backward. Peter thinks she's as restless as he is. "Two, you'll get it back. You just need to work on getting better."

"I'm not getting better," he says dully. He's been sick for _forever_. 

Raven rolls her eyes. "Not just from falling in the pond. I'm talking about the part where you starve yourself or shove your fingers down your throat."

He feels like her bluntness should be off-putting, but it helps him relax a bit to talk about it without worrying about how he's saying anything. "That's not me being sick."

"That's you struggling with your past and fear of the future."

She's not entirely wrong, but Peter isn't going to tell her that. 

"Who's shift is after yours?" he asks instead, and she lets it slide.

"Erik's. When the fuck are you gonna tell him?"

"When I'm not mad at him for trapping me in here," Peter says stubbornly.

"Oh." Raven looks at him for a moment. "Peter. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Pfft, afraid?" Peter scoffs. "I don't need him anyway. So if he reacts badly, so what?"

"He's not going to," she tells him. "He already cares about you a lot. I'm not sure how, but you really wormed your way into his heart, kid."

It makes Peter feel happy for a short moment, but then the fear is back. What if Erik is disappointed that Peter is his son? What if he's a let-down? What if Erik is too torn up about his other child, the young girl? Would Peter even matter to him after that? There are too many fears, and he doesn't have the strength to tackle them right now.

Maybe he won't ever.

 

 

 

When Erik arrives at lunch time, all he has is a large cup with a straw.

"A protein shake," he says. "It's a compromise. It's got some of the vitamins and nutrients you need but not a lot of calories."

Peter eyes it suspiciously. "Can I take the IV out, then?"

"Not yet."

"Then no." Peter shakes his head. It's too much. 

" _Peter_ ," Erik says exasperatedly. "Just drink the godamn protein shake."

"No." Peter feels like a deer in the headlights. "I- I can't."

"You need it if you want to get your ability back. And you need your health to be any good at running. So drink it." 

Maybe it _will_ help him get over his sickness, and then he can get his speed back and go back to exercising enough. In the end it'll be better, so he gives in. 

"Fine, just the drink."

Erik almost looks happy and Peter tries not to think too hard. Erik doesn't really care, he just likes winning. 

Peter takes the drink from him with trembling hands and tries to straighten the straw toward his face. It smells horrific, but all food smells terrible to him now. He feels himself ready to gag before he even starts. 

"Are you alright?" Erik asks after a moment. Peter realizes in embarrassment that he's been staring down a cup for the past few minutes. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says sharply. Then he finally takes a sip. 

It slides down his throat and makes him shiver as he feels it descend. It's disgusting. It tastes as bad as it smells and it feels so terrible. But he said he'd drink it, so he will. 

He takes another sip and immediately throws up.

"Dammit," Erik says under his breath before he carefully pulls the blanket off the bed and Peter's lap. He didn't manage to lean over the side first, so there's a puddle of stomach acid on the blanket. When he's disposed of that, he hands Peter a washcloth to clean his face with and takes the drink from his shaking hands.

"A little at a time," Erik says to him reassuringly. "You'll get there."

But Peter doesn't want to. He's feeling so good after throwing up, even though he immediately broke into a cold sweat. 

Erik gets him some water and lets him drink the whole glass before he offers the shake again. Peter knows it's fucked up, but he accepts the offer because he wants to throw up again. When he throws up one sip, he feels like more is coming up than going down. Sure enough, after one drink he heaves again, but when Erik hurriedly shoves the small wastebasket in front of him, nothing comes out. 

It's awful. He dry heaves again and it feels disgusting and wrong and nothing like it should. He pushes the wastebasket away and curls forward on himself, trying to hide the fact that there are tears streaming down his face. He heaves a third time but he stays leaning forward. Nothing's coming out anyway. 

Erik puts the shake down and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, a strong hand coming to rest on Peter's back. 

"Peter," he says quietly, "you're doing well." 

Peter sniffles. It's embarrassing. 

"Do you need us to call your family?" Erik asks after a moment. "Maybe seeing them would help."

Peter briefly considers it before he realizes that Erik would meet his mom. Again. 

"No, I can't uproot my mom like that," he chokes out before his voice dissolves into a coughing fit. "Please, don't bother her."

"Do you have any other family?" Erik asks gently. 

"A-" cough. "A little sister. And my dad is somewhere in the world but I never knew him."

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't worry about it. I haven't lost anyone I knew. Now give me the fucking protein shake."

"Excuse me?" Erik says, but he sounds vaguely amused.

"Please," Peter says, and he'd roll his eyes but he'll lose his nerve soon if he doesn't just drink the godamn thing.

"Let's settle you in first," Erik says, helping Peter sit up against the pillows and grabbing a new blanket to drape over him. 

"Thank you," Peter says as Erik hands him the protein shake.

"No problem."

Peter pauses to look at the older man and really think. For so long he'd been ashamed to know that Magneto was his father. He'd been so worried he'd be the son of a mass murderer, a _villain_ , if you will, that it would be a secret he would take to the grave. But now that he knows the man, he's worried about disappointing him. He _wants_ to tell him he's his dad. He's grown to care about Erik, he realizes, and he _does_ almost see him as a father. Maybe. He's too old for that, and yet he still yearns for it. There's still a hole that was never filled.

"Are you alright?" Erik asks in concern, and Peter realizes that he's been staring.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm...tired."

"Well, drink that and then you can get some rest," Erik tells him. 

"Okay."

"It's good for you," Erik says. "You need it. It won't make you any slower, I promise."

Peter takes a few sips and barely keeps it down, but he manages, and Erik looks happy. Then Erik pulls out a chessboard and kicks Peter's ass while he gets distracted enough to drink the whole shake. 

He feels better afterward. Maybe...maybe he should do that a bit more. You know, just to get over being sick so he can get his speed back. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains a sort of unintentional suicide attempt. Confusing, I know, but it's close enough to count so please be safe.

He drinks the stupid protein shakes just enough to keep them satisfied. He has to keep telling himself that he'll lose it all again when he can run- hell, when he can walk. He gets stronger little by little, and they all seem so happy. He starts to get up and walk around the room, which Hank allows as long as he takes the IV stand with him. 

It's wonderful to be able to use the bathroom alone. They've obviously removed everything they think he could use to harm himself, so they don't question him when he goes. 

Peter's a little too smart, though, and he finds his ways. For a little while he would take the spring out of the toilet paper holder and use that, but he gets close to Hank's first aid kit one day and steals the sharp pair of scissors from it. Hank's an easily distracted guy, and he simply thinks he's misplaced them in the lab.

Peter hasn't used them yet- they're dauntingly sharp. But he's just been an asshole to Erik again and he feels bad for taking advantage of Hank's distraction and he's sure he's been terrible to Charles in some way, so he locks himself in the bathroom and rolls up his right sleeve. If he cuts his left arm, they'll see the marks when they fix the IV, so he'll have to manage using his left hand.

He opens the scissors and grips one sharp edge between his fingers, shakily setting it to his skin. It drags easily, a thin red line following. It's not enough. He makes another cut and watches in satisfaction as it opens wider and spills over. It's beautiful. A few more lines and then suddenly he realizes he can't take very long or they'll get suspicious.

All he can do is heavily wrap his arm in toilet paper and hide the scissors up his sleeve. Once he's settled back into bed, he slips the scissors under some of the pillows.

He gained weight again. Maybe he can bleed it out. 

 

 

 

Finally, finally they agree to let him outside for a little while. Unfortunately, that entails them forcing him into a wheelchair. Needless to say, Peter is _not_ happy. 

Erik's busy fixing some metal beams in the attic, so Hank helps Peter down the stairs and then insists on shoving him into the wheelchair as soon as possible. Peter argues, but to no avail. It's still better than nothing. Hank drapes a blanket over his lap like he's a fucking old lady and then pushes him toward the grounds. 

There are so many kids outside. Peter doesn't even recognize a few, so they must be new. Just how much has he missed?

Jean is sitting under one of the large trees reading something to Kurt. Kurt seems to be dozing off when Hank rolls the chair to a stop near them.

"Hey," Jean pauses in her book. "How are you feeling?"

Peter thinks that maybe Jean gets it. Her mind plagues her as well, and even if it's in different ways, she must understand the pain of having your own mind try to self-destruct.

But she's got such worse problems Peter can't even fathom. He's just a selfish idiot if he thinks he can relate.

"H-hey," he coughs out. 

"I'm going to leave you here for a moment," Hank tells him. "The professor may want to come out today. The weather's so nice."

Hank is an unbelievably pleasant person at times. Peter can't relate.

"Okay," he says dully. Watching the other children running around and freely using their powers seems so unfair. He was just trying to get better, faster. 

"We're reading _The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes_ ," Kurt tells Peter, grinning widely at him. Peter manages a small smile. 

"Those are good," he says. 

Jean looks him over sadly but Kurt appears oblivious.

" _How are you feeling?_ " She asks in his head. She's merely communicating, so Peter relaxes. 

" _Tired_ ," he responds. " _But restless_."

" _You're getting better,_ " she says before smiling reassuringly and resuming her reading aloud. 

Peter gets lost in his thoughts. He's getting better from the sickness, but he's not light enough, so he's not all the way at his best. It's confusing.

He turns his attention to the children scattered over the grounds to distract himself. Scott is fairly close by, asking Ororo where it's safe to aim his laser vision. He barely cracks his eyes open, and he's doing better at making the stream of energy smaller.

Raven is desperately clinging to the ankle of a levitating little boy on the other side of the small pond, and Peter chuckles to himself. The boy can only be around eight, but he seems to be enjoying himself immensely as Raven scolds him. Two children are chasing each other in circles around her. 

There are more young kids than he remembers. At first they were all teens as the abilities usually only manifest later on, but now there are probably five or six children that can't be above twelve. He wonders how they're adjusting to it, being away from their parents and learning to control whatever ability they've got. 

There's one little girl that Peter finds particularly interesting. She's quite small, and her brown hair isn't that long. All in all she's fairly nondescript except for the part where she walks into one object and comes out of another. She's involved in a large game of tag, and she runs into a tree only to come shooting out of the side of the house. It's amazing, quite honestly, and Peter finds his mind speeding up to try and catch a pattern. It's good for his brain to get some exercise, and he feels like he's going faster than he has been recently.

The game of tag ends, and she seems to get bored. Then she heads toward a row of trees near the back. They're offset from each other, and she takes off in a run, running into one tree and popping out the next. It's fascinating, and Peter can't tear his eyes away, until he registers the sharp blast of Scott's laser and hears him and Ororo talking faintly. They're at the edge of the trees the girl is shooting through and- oh god, Ororo has just pointed to an empty space that the girl is _just about to emerge into._

Jean must have caught a glimpse in his head because she looks up in horror just as everything _sloooows doooooooown_. 

His arms tremble as he pushes himself out of the wheelchair. The blanket crumples to the ground, forgotten, as Peter struggles forward. He takes off at a staggering run, and he's dragging himself with every step, tripping and catching himself, but he's fighting against time and he can't lose. _He can't fucking lose_. He'll never forgive himself if he isn't fast enough. 

Past Jean, past Kurt; he's stumbling but he won't fall, not now, nothing is going to keep him from saving this little girl. He feels much too far away when she seems to come into existence. Sure enough, Scott's laser is slowly making its way directly toward her. It's going to be close, far too close. 

He nearly falls as he reaches her. He can feel the heat of the beam and it's right by them, just a hair away-

And then everything snaps back to normal. The little girl screams in pain. 

Oh god no, no-

" _Oh my god!_ " Ororo is by them in an instant and Scott is shoving his eye protection back on. "Is she okay?"

They're crumpled on the ground. Peter's panicking and the girl is crying, but crying means she's alive, right? He looks down at her and sees that she has a burn on her side, right under where his arms are tightly wrapped around her, and it's pretty big, oh god-

"Out of my way!" someone calls sharply, and it's Hank, thank god. The students that have gathered around instantly clear a pathway for him.

The crying has stopped. No, no, Peter can't look, what if it's worse than it looks and- 

Gentle hands pull her away to get a good look at her. She's unconscious. Peter flips out.

He was too slow. What if she _dies?_ He was _too slow_. He failed, and it's all his own fault because he got himself sick and he made himself slower and he let her get hurt. That's on him. 

"Peter- Peter, breathe," Jean instructs him gently, but suddenly she hears Scott hyperventilating in the background and then she's gone. Everyone's crowded around Hank until he has Kurt teleport him and the girl away. She was still unconscious. Peter fucked up again. It's all he'll ever do. 

It's too loud here, there are too many frantic, panicked voices and Scott's having a total freak out and Peter can't take it anymore. Everything slows down again and then he's gone. 

 

 

 

He grabs the scissors from under the pillow and then zips over to a deserted clearing. He can still see the roof of the mansion from here. That doesn't matter. He just needs total peace and quiet, no children panicking, no people talking- just silence. 

He's alone with his worst critic and it's hell. He's barraged with reminder after reminder of every failure, every time he wasn't fast enough, every time he let someone down. And Erik, oh god, Erik. He can never know that he is Peter's dad, he has gone through enough. Peter can't put him through the disappointment of having such a terrible son. 

He pulls out the scissors. He doesn't really care about which arm he cuts right now. He just needs the pain, the distraction, the sharp cut through the foggy mess of his head.

The first cut is deeper than he intended and so, so sweet. It's bleeding rather quickly, and it drips onto the grass beneath him. That stain looks so unnatural on the bright green grass. He makes another cut. Then another. 

Time passes but he doesn't know how much. He feels lightheaded. His left arm is a bloody mess and it's staining his clothes and the ground, and he switches to his right arm, holding the scissors with shaky hands. He feels high, and it's hysterical.

He goes from crying to laughing, and then he can't stop. He's laughing and slashing haphazardly at his arm, and the more he cuts, the more fucked up he realizes he is, and the more he wants to cut.

His hand goes numb and he drops the scissors. Blood is pouring down his palms and into his lap and oh god, he's going to die.

He falls backward with a thump, sprawling on his back. He's still laughing, his arms splayed out and bleeding into the dirt.

He's like one big joke.  

 

 

 

Someone is carrying him. They're moving quickly, and his arms are on fire- it hurts, it hurts so much. 

He lets out a groan. 

"Peter, stay awake, I'm getting you back to the house." 

Erik. He sounds panicked. Why is he panicked? Did something bad happen? Peter's confused. 

"It's okay, dad. I-I'm too...tired."

His voice slurs. Then his eyes are sliding shut again. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be in Erik's point of view. I'm pretty nervous about it, but it's going to be the only chapter that's not from Peter's point of view, so if people don't like it they don't have to worry about it happening again :)
> 
> ALSO: before y'all decide Erik is an idiot, think about how weird it would be to randomly be like 'hey what if this random mutant kid is MY SON.' He probably doesn't remember the whole 'my mom knew a guy' thing.

_Dad_. The word echoes through his head over and over again. Peter sees him as a father figure? 

It sort of makes sense. Their relationship dynamics have become like that of a father and son- Erik isn't entirely sure just how old Peter is, but he's definitely old enough to be the kid's father. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, Peter has helped him heal in that sense. He has been a father- he has known the love one has for their own child and then he has lost it. He had never wanted to feel it again, and yet Peter had somehow wormed his way into his heart despite not even being a child anymore. He needed someone to be a strong support. He still will.

If he pulls through. 

Erik puts his head in his hands and breathes deeply. It's not working. He's seen this happen to Peter countless times- watched helplessly as he lost air and struggled to breathe for seemingly no reason at all. He's panicking. He doesn't want to lose anyone else, he _can't_. He can't go through it again. Before, he has hidden behind anger. He has used anger to keep the hurt from breaking him. But this time he can't, this time he will remember Peter's face when he and Raven came to try and convince him to help them instead of destroying them, and he'll know that he would be dishonoring him, and _god_ it hurts- no, the kid isn't even dead. He's alright. He's got to be. But there was _so much blood_ -

"Erik."

It's a voice that can no longer fail to calm him down, a voice that reminds him of every good thing. It's Charles. 

He tries to look at him, but he knows that his eyes are wide and panicked.

"Erik, he'll pull through. He's strong, and his speed is back which means his enhanced healing is."

Charles wheels his chair up to Erik and comes to a stop in front of him. Erik is looking at his lap, and Charles reaches out and takes his hands in a firm grasp. 

"Are you certain?" Erik asks hoarsely.

Charles smiles sadly. "I am certain of nothing at the moment, and yet I feel quite confident that he will be alright. I am, however, concerned for you, my friend."

"For me?" Erik asks in confusion. He finds himself looking up at Charles in curiosity.

"I know you're quite close with Peter. I don't want to see you hurt again."

"I don't want to be hurt again," Erik admits. "But such is the price of caring for people, isn't it?"

"You sound like me," Charles says, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Well." Erik shrugs. "You might be right on occasion."

"What's that I hear?" Charles laughs.

" _On occasion,_ " Erik stresses. Charles laughs again and Erik manages a smile. They are quite a pair, aren't they? Not a pair. Just two friends. They're _friends_. 

Charles sobers up after a moment. "There's quite a good doctor in there with Hank, I have much faith in him."

Hank isn't that experienced, and Peter's condition had been too severe for him to take care of on his own, so Charles had had Kurt take him to bring back a doctor he knew and trusted. They've been in the makeshift hospital wing for over an hour, and Erik is feeling restless. 

_So much blood..._

He'd come downstairs just in time to hear about the little girl that had been burned. She was doing much better, but then suddenly someone spoke up about Peter's panic attack and disappearance, and all hell had broken loose. He was nowhere to be found. Kurt had frantically teleported over so many places that he nearly passed out, and he didn't think of the small clearing until he couldn't move anymore. He'd told Erik where it was and had barely finished speaking before he was out the door, Hank on his heels. 

Peter had been lying in a pool of his own blood, completely unconscious.

"Erik." Charles tries to calm him down again, squeezing his hands gently and trying to meet his eyes.

"He called me dad," Erik chokes out.

Charles' eyes widen. "When?"

"It just- it slipped out when I was carrying him back. He woke up for just a second, and I think he was confused."

Charles looks as if he wants to say something, but he seems to change his mind and falls silent. 

"He really looks up to you," he says finally. "He admires you a lot- he told me that on several occasions."

"What's to admire?" Erik laughs bitterly. 

Charles frowns at him. "My dear friend, don't be an utter fool. We have all of us made mistakes of disastrous proportions, and yet none of us shame nor look down on each other because of it."

"I've done more than anyone," Erik responds. 

"And learned all the better what is wrong and what is right," Charles says gently. "I have watched you come a long way, from a haunted and bitter man to one who will hold a cup for someone too weak to hold it themselves. That is what matters to me right here and right now."

For the first time since he found Peter in the clearing, Erik feels a little bit of hope stir in his chest. Charles, his oldest and best friend, does not see him as a monster. He seems to have forgiven him. 

He returns the firm grasp of Charles' hands and smiles weakly. 

"Thank you," he says softly. "Will you wait with me?"

 

 

 

The number of people in the small hallway has grown within a short time frame. Raven was the first to show, looking tired and frazzled. She and Peter have a special relationship, and Erik knows she's quite fond of him. Scott shows up, and with him are Jean and the little girl that got burned who is currently sitting happily on his lap as he tries to make amends by befriending her. Ororo and Kurt follow shortly after, Kurt still exhausted from overusing his ability and then teleporting the doctor. There are more people that Erik doesn't know, but he can feel that everyone is concerned. There are more people that care than Peter knows. 

He's absently rubbing his thumb over Charles' fingers before he realizes that they've been holding hands for nearly an hour. Instinct tells him to withdraw, but he can't force himself to. Not now. Not when he's given up and let everything in. Charles seems to sense his tension and smiles at him. 

"They should be finished soon," he says. "It seems as if they'll know soon."

He pauses. Erik watches eagerly as he puts his fingers to his temple and concentrates. 

Then, "he's going to pull through," Charles says softly. 

Erik lets his head fall forward into Charles' lap, and Charles just strokes his head gently as the tears come. 

 

 

 

Looking at the sickly thin and pale figure lying in the bed, Erik can't help but remember the teenager he met so long ago. He was so full of energy, frantic energy albeit, and he seemed happy. Maybe not entirely satisfied with his life, and yes, he seemed restless- but he was alright. Now- now he's plagued with nightmares and thoughts in his head that want to tear him apart, some of which Erik is not unfamiliar with himself. But Peter is an innocent as far as he knows, a young man with a good heart, and it seems so unfair- and yet, isn't that all of life, especially for them?

He sits heavily in a chair, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He doesn't know when he came to care so much, but Charles is right. He and Peter are quite close. He's told Peter things that few have ever known, and Peter has opened up to him more than anyone. They're so alike in some ways, as much as Erik hates to admit it. He wishes he were a better man for Peter to lean on. 

"His mother is on her way," Charles says gently as he enters. "It will be hours before she arrives, however."

And that's right, isn't it? All he's got is a mother and sister. Perhaps that's why he looked to Erik for support. He has been the man in the house, and he has been strong for too long. Erik feels as if he himself has been strong for too long, but he can hold on if Peter will just wake up. He can still be that for Peter- no, he will be better. He'll be the best man he has ever been for Peter and for Charles. For the memory of his poor wife and child, for Raven, for anyone he has cared for. He is determined.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" Charles says, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

"Because in my dreams he will never wake up," Erik says quietly. He knows his own mind, even the darkest corners. 

Charles lets it go. "I'll stay with you, then."

"Charles-"

"I care about him as well," Charles scolds, but his eyes aren't angry. His face softens into a smile. "We can both be here when he wakes."

"Thank you," Erik says for a second time. Charles looks happy and he wishes he would look that way more often. 

Charles deserves the world and all Erik has given him is pain. 

" _Where have you gone, my friend?_ " Charles asks him in his head. He can sense the voice, but he knows that Charles is not intruding on his mind, and he lets it go. 

"I don't know how to help," he says softly. "I don't know what I am doing."

"Erik, Erik, Erik." Charles smiles fondly at him. "You are doing the best that you can, and that is all you need to do. There's still hope for him, I promise."

"He's very important to me," Erik says, and he wishes that such admissions weren't so difficult, that he could care as easily as Charles cares.

"There's still hope for you as well," Charles says. "And I think it's lying in that bed." He looks over at Peter, but Erik is still looking at him.

"It's right in front of me as well," he says softly. 

Charles' eyes are full of wonder as he turns to look back at the man in front of him. 

"I have done nothing for you," he says. "I have merely done my best to show you who I believe you truly are."

"You are doing the best that you can, and that is all you need to do," Erik quotes back at him. He doesn't know what's overcome him- he was never to speak this boldly, never to try again for love, never to let himself bring Charles lower. And yet, looking into Charles' hopeful eyes, he suddenly realizes that this is what Charles has waited for all this time. "My dearest friend, you have been the hope to my despair, the joy to my anger, the healing to my hurt. I- I wish I could say that I have done the same for you."

"Erik." Charles' eyes are shining. "You have been enough."

And that's all he needs to hear.  


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long. I kept rewriting it and it still feels shitty, so I'm sorry. I hope you guys at least sort of enjoy it...
> 
> I've had a shitty week. I suffer from insomnia and I've been sick for three and a half weeks, and my best friend's girlfriend hates me and is a passive aggressive bitch to me- yknow, obvious posts on social media, bitchy texts telling me to stay away from him, that sort of thing. And he lets her. He let her call me a slut on social media to hundreds of friends/followers and barely called her out on it. I give up. He doesn't care about me anymore, that much is clear.

Peter doesn't know what to think now that he's awake. He hadn't gone to that clearing with the intent to kill himself, but he hadn't had a problem with it happening either. He's fucked up again, and he is so,  _so_ tired of it. He can't stand living in his own body, hearing his own thoughts, never escaping his own mind. He wants to try again, but he's restrained for a third time and he can't go anywhere. He's too tired to throw a tantrum about it. 

Hank, bless his heart, doesn't make him talk. He just checks him over and makes him as comfortable as he can before he leaves. Peter's never done a thing for the man and yet he's bent over backward to keep him safe. Peter hasn't done anything for any of them, in fact, and he hates himself all the more for it. Has he ever done anything good for anyone?

Erik enters the room looking pale and tired, and Peter feels another twinge of guilt. 

"Hello, Peter," Erik says, taking the chair on his right side. "How are you feeling?"

He wants to say 'better, thank you' and smile convincingly, he really does, but he just _can't_. He can't be that person right now. 

"I'm fine," he says instead, wishing he could bring himself to care about the hollow ring in it. He sounds as if he's drained of emotion. 

~~He's so far from fine.~~

"Peter, I'd like the truth, please," Erik says gently. 

"I hate myself and my wrists feel like they're on fire," Peter says dully. Erik winces. 

"There's some damage. It will take time to heal."

Peter flexes his hands- or tries to, at least. His right hand doesn't move. He tries again, pain shooting down through his wrist. 

"I-" he panics. "I can't move my hand-" 

"Peter, it's alright," Erik tries to reassure him. Peter whips around to stare at him, wide eyed with fear and breathing heavily. "Hank said there was some slight nerve damage, but it's nothing too serious, thank god. You can't use your right hand for a few days but it should heal fully within a week."

Peter relaxes, but only marginally so. 

"Who found me?" He asks. Erik looks a little disappointed and then his shoulders straighten out again. 

"I did."

"Why did you come find me?" Peter questions so quietly it's barely a whisper. 

Erik sighs heavily, looking more tired than Peter's ever seen him look. "I care about you, Peter. I don't want you to have to go through this."

"I wanted to die," Peter says. "I just wanted peace."

Erik's eyes are so sad when they meet Peter's, and Peter realizes that the older man understands. He knows that pain, he's felt it. Probably in worse circumstances and for better reasons, but in that moment they share that special understanding, and the heavy weight becomes infinitesimally lighter. But it's not enough. He still wants out, itches to reopen the cuts hiding under white bandages. 

"You can find peace here, in time," Erik says firmly. "You _will_. We all have in some way."

"I don't want to be messed up," Peter admits, biting his trembling lower lip. "I don't want to be a burden, I don't want to feel like this."

"We are all messed up," Erik tells him. "It's what shapes us, what makes us who we are. We can let it take us over or we can shape it into what we want and use it to make ourselves stronger."

Peter's mask is cracking, and he turns away from Erik as he tries to fix it. He _will not cry_. He is no longer a kid, he can't. 

"It's alright," he says emotionlessly. "I'll be fine. You can stop worrying."

Erik looks like he's doing just the opposite of that. 

"Peter, we've been over this. You are not fine."

"I'm functioning." Even his expression is blank, and Erik sighs. 

"Barely; I wouldn't even count it." He reaches over and gently wraps his thumb and forefinger around Peter's bicep, easily encircling it. Peter just lets him. 

"I'm breathing- that's more than I wanted," he says, some bitterness sharpening his tone. Erik's hand drops from his bicep. 

"Don't talk like that," he says sharply. "That's just foolishness. I will not lose another person I- "

He stops. Peter looks at him expectantly but nothing comes. 

"What?" He asks finally. 

Erik sighs. "Don't make me go through this again. Please."

Peter feels terrible. Of course. He's not sure how or when, but Erik has come to care about him, to be emotionally attached. He has no idea why, but he has nonetheless, and this- this just adds to his hurt, doesn't it?

He'd forgotten that people care.

"I'm sorry," he says, trying to sound apologetic but still coming across as apathetic. "I forgot that people...care about me."

Erik looks so sad at that, and Peter hates watching such a powerful man bowed beside him with fear and concern, but he feels like he's not controlling himself. He can't feel anything and his mouth is moving of its own accord. 

"We do. I promise."

All Peter can manage is a shaky, awkward nod.

"Okay," he says dully. 

"Your mother is on her way," Erik says after an awkward silence.

Peter jolts up in bed and then cries out at the pain.

"Hey, hey-" Erik gently pushes him back down and checks the IV. "What's wrong?"

His mom will recognize Erik. Worse yet, _Erik will recognize his mom_. Erik will know his son is a fucked up mess. 

"Why is she coming?" He asks in a panicked, high voice. "There's no need, I'm gonna be fine-"

"Peter, stop." Erik looks extremely concerned. "Is there an issue with your mother?"

Oh no. Not like that. 

"No, no, it's just...a long drive." He trails off at the end. He can either tell Erik and get it over with, or he can wait until they run into each other. 

He wants to break the news gently. He wants a few minutes with Erik before he leaves, before he get disgusted and decides he doesn't want to be around him.

He sighs. "Okay, okay, just. I need you to hear me out on something."

He swallows nervously. Erik nods encouragingly, his eyes kind. 

"You can tell me anything," he says. 

Peter's not so sure he'll mean that in a few minutes, but he forges ahead anyway. 

"So I've never met my dad," he starts awkwardly. "He actually- he didn't leave my mom, he just didn't know she was pregnant, and when she found out she left him. She didn't...she wasn't sure what kind of man he was. I think she knew that he didn't know either, and she wanted to let him find out without the weight of a kid on his shoulders. She never really told me anything about him until a little while ago, when I- I ran into him."

Erik's expression is unreadable. Peter feels like he's going to throw up. "I want to tell him-" his voice catches. "But I- I don't think he'll want to know I'm his son. I don't think he'll- I don't think that he'll be proud."

"Peter," Erik says gently, "anyone would and should be proud to have you as a son."

And just like that, Peter bursts into tears. He's a grown man, he's too old for this, but his inner child is crying out for his long lost father. The man who just might not be ashamed of him after all.

"I'm sorry," he gasps as Erik moves to sit on the edge of the bed. The older man opens his arms and Peter leans into them.

"Why are you sorry?" Erik asks.

"It's you," Peter says between sobs. "You're- you're the man that knew my mom- you're my-"

"I'm- I'm your _father_?" Erik questions in shock. He's frozen, somehow still absolutely startled despite the heavy hints. Peter flinches. 

"Yeah," he says in a scared whisper. "My mom told me."

"What's your mother's name?" Erik asks, still looking dazed.

"Magda Maximoff."

He seems a little shell shocked, and Peter gets more nervous by the second. 

"Peter, I- I don't know what to say," Erik breathes out. "I didn't believe I had any family left."

"I'm sorry it's me." Peter feels nauseated, so he shuts down and pushes the emotion out of his voice.

"No, Peter, I'm not. You were already like a son to me." Erik manages a small smile. "I'm happy, actually, I'm just- trying to take it in."

"I know it's a lot." Peter's so tired, and he doesn't know what he wants Erik to say. He doesn't realize that he's drifting off until he jolts back awake.

"You need sleep," Erik chides him gently. 

"Jus..." He's slurring with sleepiness, and it makes him a little upset that he can't stay awake and talk to Erik about how he's his dad. "I don't want you to leave... won't come back."

"I'll be right here," Erik tells him. "I promise."

"Okay." Peter leans back on the pillows, his eyes already slipping shut. He reaches and catches Erik's hand and Erik just lets him. 

"You're a great kid," Erik says just as he's falling asleep. He sounds more like Peter, and it makes him smile.

It's the truth, though. 


	13. Chapter 13

Erik is reeling from shock. 

He tried not to show it to Peter, didn't want the boy to know he was surprised and interpret it as disappointment or anger, but he's not doing a great job. Fortunately, the speedster is finally resting, allowing the emotions to show on Erik's face without fear of misinterpretation. He has a _son_. He has _family_ , real flesh and blood family, and that family of two is safe, for now. But, dear god, it almost wasn't. Heaven help him, Erik had nearly let his son be killed by the man- the being- he had joined forces with. He remembers the sharp crack, the cry of pain as the boy's leg was snapped easily, and he cringes. 

Perhaps Peter is not safe with him. And yet- he knows he is why Peter is currently alive. He found him, he has challenged him to work on getting better, he has made him laugh. Wallowing in self-hatred will not help his son now- no, he must do what he has never done, and that is accept himself and his mistakes. After all, humility isn't tearing yourself down, it's building others up. Damn Charles and his C. S. Lewis quotes, but he's right. Erik has a clear path ahead of him, and it's currently clinging to his hand. Peter's grip tightens and his eyebrows furrow, so Erik leans over and smooths some hair from his face, curiously examining the silver strands. He's not sure if it's natural; Peter's sense of fashion is rather questionable. But details like that- he has so much time to learn them. 

The door opens and he turns around to face whoever enters. It's Charles, and Erik finds himself relaxing. He will have to face Peter's mother, tackle those ghosts from his past, but for a moment he can find solace in his dearest and oldest friend. 

"Afternoon, Erik," Charles greets with a smile. He takes in Erik's hunched over posture and happy get scared face, and seems to understand. His smile widens. 

"He's my son," Erik says softly. "I missed his whole life until now."

"I know," Charles says, coming to a stop by him. "He told me, but I knew he wanted to tell you in his own time. How are you feeling?"

"I'm a little in shock," Erik admits. "Ghosts from twenty-seven years ago have come back. But I'm also...proud."

Charles' eyes are twinkling. "I knew you would be," he says. "I told Peter as much. He was afraid you wouldn't be."

Erik scoffs. "He's already twice the man that I am."

Charles rests a hand on Erik's free one. Charles' trembles a little, but lies still when Erik makes no move to withdraw his hand. "You were part of something good," he tells Erik. 

"Hardly," he answers dryly. "I've only just come into his life."

"And yet you are the reason his life goes on," Charles assures him. "Peter's...condition, it's quite serious. For all I know of the mind, I do not understand such illnesses on a deep enough level. But I do know that he has greatly improved because of your influence, and that you have steered his path away from a dead end."

Erik flinches at the word 'dead,' but he understands Charles point. He's done something good. 

"What if it's not enough?" He asks, suddenly dismissive of the fear of sounding, well, afraid. 

"I believe it is," Charles says firmly. "You have strengths outside of your control over metal, Erik. You can have the touch of a healer."

"Rather than the hands of a killer?" He asks bitterly. 

"Yes," Charles says, squeezing Erik's hand. "The cruelest touch can be turned gentle. The most bitter heart can be filled with love.  People change, and it is not always for the worst. I have always believed in you, my friend."

Erik cannot continue to cling to his anger and hatred. He cannot continue to avoid acceptance of the fact that all along it has been aimed toward himself. He cannot look at Charles, know that his son is sleeping a foot away, and believe that there is room for all of that and enough love for them both. 

"I have changed," he says, turning to meet Charles' eyes. "I am...lighter."

"I know." Charles' eyes are soft and his lips curl up into a small but genuine smile. "And I am glad."

Erik's lost in those eyes, and for once he doesn't mind. He doesn't shy away or respond in anger. He just lets go, drops all semblance of control, and smiles. Charles' widening smile is worth it, and Erik is glad to be the cause of it instead of more pain. Who is he? He is nearly unrecognizable like this, and yet, he feels more like himself, as if he is becoming the person he is meant to be. 

Suddenly he realizes how close they have become, how Charles smile is nearly close enough to reach with his own, and everything within him wants to close the distance or run away. He is terrified. Nothing has ever mattered so much. 

"Erik..." Charles' voice is soft. "Take a real risk."

It's a challenge that nearly startles a laugh from Erik, and it's so utterly _Charles_ that it lends him strength. He takes the challenge, and closes the distance. He feels too old to call it fireworks when their lips meet, he feels as if it's too real to call it anything so juvenile, but it does feel like an electric shock. The gravity of the situation weighs on him until Charles laughs against his mouth, and then it's suddenly something so carefree and easy that Erik laughs too and pulls away, only to wrap his arms around the other man. His chin rests on Charles' shoulder, and Charles is still laughing. 

"We're a pair of fools," he says, and Erik can't help but agree. 

"Old fools," he teases, and again he wonders who he is. But he likes it.

"Old fools," Charles repeats. "Old fools in love?"

The word once felt like poison on Erik's tongue, but now it feels right. "Old fools in love," he agrees. 

"Thank god," Charles says, and Erik pulls back to see that smile again. He loves this man, the first person to truly see _him_ and not his wall of anger. 

They both turn to Peter as the boy stirs in his sleep. He looks peaceful in the moment, but he is still so painfully thin. His cheeks are sunken in, and his wrists are thin under the bulk of the bandages. 

"We'll help him," Charles says. 

 _We'll help him_. Erik is unaccustomed to 'we,' but it feels like a relief to have it. 

"That we will," he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know used the word 'agree' a lot, but I think it's important and proves a point here. They finally see eye to eye.
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but that's just how things lined up with the plot line, because I want the next parts to be back in Peter's point of view. Thank you so much for all of the lovely comments, they make my days so much better and I really need that. I love you all!


	14. Chapter 14

The murmur of familiar voices already comforts Peter as he slowly awakens. Something feels strange, though- the blend of voices-

 _Mom_. 

It's her voice answering Erik's, and they sound...cordial.

"Mom?" He croaks, trying to sit up and see her. 

"Peter!" She smiles at him, but it trembles a little, and he sees the concern in her eyes, the redness and the slight puffiness under them.

"Easy, there," Erik tells him, gently pushing him back against the pillows. "Don't hurt yourself."

"How are- how are you feeling?" Magda asks him cautiously, but Peter's too distracted by his joy at the sight of her. He's put her through hell, he knows, but he loves her more than almost anything in the world.

"I'm so happy to see you," he says, and her smile spreads a little further, looking warmer. 

"I'm happy to see you as well. And...your father." 

Peter swallows uncomfortably. "About that-"

"Look, Peter, it worked out. You're not a child anymore, you don't have to listen when I tell you no." Magda takes his thin hand in hers. Erik doesn't seem at all offended. 

"Okay," Peter says in a small voice. 

"I'm just glad you're okay," she says, and the last word chokes out on a sob. Peter had nearly forgotten, somehow, and suddenly he feels...awkward. He feels so very awkward. 

"I'm sorry," he says softly. 

"Sorry you did this to yourself or sorry that you hurt anyone?" She asks gently. He can't answer that, and his gaze drops down to his lap. Magda sighs. "It's okay, sweetie, I know it's not that simple." 

He feels her gaze on him, taking in the bandaged arms and the unnatural thinness of his body- and when did he think of it as thin? He's not thin. He's not. Is he? He might be a little thin. 

For the first time in his life, he shrinks under her gaze, tugging nervously on the blankets. 

"Hank's getting you some food," Erik says after an awkward pause. 

"Oh." Peter keeps picking at the blanket. "Can I just-"

" _No_ ," Erik and Magda say at once, tones bordering on sharp. Peter considers high fiving them or yelling _jinx_ but then realizes it might not be deemed appropriate. 

"I'm here now and I will be making sure you eat every crumb," his mother threatens. "Not to discredit Erik or Charles, though I do wish I'd been notified earlier."

"Peter was violently against your being 'bothered' and we weren't sure as to the...the reason behind that." Erik looks a little uncomfortable, which Peter finds hilarious. 

Magda takes no offense, however. "Quite right, respect his decisions when you can, etc. Okay, I get it. Doesn't mean I don't wish I had been here sooner."

"I know mom, I just didn't know how to tell Erik about the- about the thing, and I didn't know you'd take it this well."

Magda looks a little embarrassed for a moment and Erik coughs into his hand. 

"Well, maybe it wasn't quite so cordial at first," she admits. "But I was scared! And I wasn't expecting to see him here, I hadn't heard from you in a while."

It's Peter's turn to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, mom, I really am."

"It's okay, honey, I get it. It's not your fault." She pats his hand comfortingly and Erik just looks at Peter like _I told you so_. It feels weird. Not a bad sort of weird, but definitely not something he'd expected. His mom had mentioned Charles. Did she know? Had she seen Erik and Charles' terribly concealed feelings for each other? 

He's completely distracted from why he's in a hospital bed at all as he tries to read his mom and Erik's body language. They seem to have come to some peaceful agreement- either Charles has told Magda of Erik's involvement, or they didn't end all that badly those many years ago. Either way, he feels relieved. 

Hank shows up with the food, looking vastly uncomfortable as he blatantly shifts his gaze between Magda and Erik. He gives Peter an odd look, as if searching for resemblances. So the word is out, now, at least to a few more people. Peter doesn't mind, for some reason. 

Magda and Erik resort to staring him down until he's finished his food.

"I change my mind," he says when he's done, trying to pretend he still feels empty. "You two should never be around each other ever."

"Drink your water," Magda orders instead of answering. Peter fights an eyeroll, but his smile drops when he catches sight of his bandaged arms.

Oh. Right. 

"I'll-" Erik coughs. "I should let you be alone. Of course." He looks as if he wants to face palm, but the man still seems to have a stick up his ass and Peter can't really imagine him actually doing it. 

Magda watches him go with a curious expression. 

"It's...strange," she says. "He seems so much more comfortable with himself."

"This whole thing is weird," Peter mutters. 

"How are you feeling?"

He's not entirely sure how to answer that. There's that underlying dull feeling, but he feels relief that Erik and his mom are getting along so well- though it's possibly because they knew he needed them to. He's also happy to see his mother, and he learned that the little girl who had been burnt was healing well. He's such a mixture of good and bad that he's not entirely sure which is winning.

"I feel all mixed up," he admits. "Good and bad."

"Well," says Magda, "that's better than just bad, at least. We can work with this. I've arranged to stay here for a week, so we can catch up and I can be your mother a little longer, alright?"

He's oddly comforted by that. With so many competent adults, he can take a little time and act like a kid again, rest up and not worry. No stress, no anxiety.

That familiar wave of guilt hits him at the slight self-pity. Who is he to put the burden of his own issues on people who have already been through hell? They've seen and been through enough. They've done enough. Don't they deserve a break as well?

He's not sure why, but when Magda gently asks what he's thinking about, it all comes spilling out- his fear of being a burden, his sympathy for the trauma and nightmares of everyone around him, the terror that he's going to let people down. He knows she wants to interrupt at a few points, but she lets him finish first.

"You've done so much, Peter. I'm so proud," she says finally. "You haven't let anyone down. And from what I've heard, you have been healing others as much as they have healed you. Charles pulled me aside and spoke of Erik's changes. And I'm happy. He is- no, was- such a dangerous man, someone who didn't know himself or how to deal with the grief and pain. I knew that. That's why I left him, so he could learn how to deal with it. You've helped him, Peter. You truly have."

His own eyes are tearing up, and he hates crying but it feels like relief this time, like it's built up a wall that he's breaking down. 

"I want to believe I've done some good," he says, and his voice is catching and the tears suddenly fall and then his mother is standing and wrapping her arms around him like he's ten years old and getting picked on for being weird again. It's what he needs, emotional release, and they just cry together for a little while. 

Maybe he can get it all out there, let people in to help him. 

 

 

 

Magda goes to make sure his sister is settled in, and Raven shows up. Peter expects a smack in the face and well-meant threats, but he actually gets a comforting hug and a wobbly smile. 

"It's not actually that crazy," she says as she settles into a chair. She put on some clothes so as not to startle Magda, and Peter's a little grateful. 

"What isn't?" he asks. 

"Wanting to off yourself. I mean, logically it's an effective solution."

He stares at her like she's nuts. 

" _Logically?_ "

"Well, technically it works, doesn't it? If you need everything to stop. Just need peace and acceptance." She sighs. "But it's still stupid because humans- and mutants- aren't meant simply for logic. We're so much more complex than that."

"I didn't realize you were so philosophical," Peter quips, picking at his bandage.

Raven laughs. "Comes from listening to Charles and Erik bicker like an old married couple. Hey, stop that." She swats at his hand until he moves it away from the bandage. "Speaking of which, I think they might be a thing now."

Peter raises his eyebrows, glad for a distraction. "A thing as in..."

"As in I swear they were holding hands earlier. Like a pair of _school children_." She waggles her eyebrows and Peter groans.

"What is my mom gonna think..."

"Probably precisely what's true. It's so obvious." Raven picks at her nail for a moment and then shifts around, crossing her arms and leaning back. She's almost as restless as Peter sometimes. 

"My poor mom." Peter laughs a little, though. 

"Also Scott and Jean- god. You can see it coming from a mile away."

"I'd say they seem like a pretty explosive pair," Peter says, wondering when he got so into gossip. Dammit Raven. 

"Yeah, well, maybe they'll channel it into something good. Oh yeah, Scott totally got caught trying to sneak Kurt out to go to the mall again. Charles says they can go sometime, I guess he's taking pity on the restless teenagers. Or he's just happy cause he's in looooove."

Peter groans again. "Why is this not awkward for you."

"I embrace awkward," she says, looking dead serious. "There's no other way. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

Peter rolls his eyes, but he can't help smiling. He feels marginally better. Everyone helps in some way, Erik with his support, Charles with his calmness, Hank with his medical help, and Raven with her distractions. 

"Can you visit more?" He asks her meekly after a moment. Her eyes soften a bit before she rolls them herself.

"I guess if I absolutely have to," she says disgruntledly, but Peter isn't fooled. She's got a soft spot for him for sure. He can't help the small smirk on his face.

"You have to," he says.

"Don't push it, kid," she throws back, but there's a small smile on her face. "I gotta go make sure Drew hasn't floated off into the sunset yet, but I'll come back later and remind you how stupid you are."

"Love you too," Peter calls after her.

"Your face is stupid too," she throws over her shoulder before the door shuts, and then he's alone.

They've learned- anything even remotely sharp has been removed from the room. If Hank needs medical supplies, he brings them in and then takes them back out when he leaves. But Peter actually isn't thinking about that. 

For a little while, he's content. The thoughts are still clouding the back of his mind and he's sure the fear will strike him again, but for a moment he can breathe. Maybe that's all he needs to regain his strength. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Magda seems rather blunt and a little quirky, but Peter has to get it from SOMEWHERE, right?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I am so sorry that I went from updating so frequently to just disappearing. This story is important to me and I knew that rushing it when I had no motivation would drop the quality and possibly ruin the story. But thank you Shane Dawson for your many videos that brought out my dark humor again and allowed another update. This story is slowly but surely coming to an end, but I will continue writing fics whenever I am feeling up to it. I don't currently have any plans for more X-Men fics, but you never know. For now, I am beginning a Percy Jackson fic about Nico DiAngelo and Will Solace if any of you are weird like me and enjoy extremely different fandoms.
> 
> Hey, I wonder what an X-Men/Percy Jackson crossover would look like. I mean, you could take their 'godly gifts' and make them super powers. Hm. Anyway, off topic. (I may have had too much caffeine today, but without it this chapter wouldn't be possible).

It's halfway through the meal that Peter sees how much he's consumed. And he also realizes that that is how much he's been consuming in general, lately. Ever since his mom came, he's been too busy and distracted to overthink everything, but right now it doesn't feel like overthinking, it feels like the first logical thing he's thought in days. How much does he weigh now? They're not weighing him as much, and when they do, they know better than to let him see, but he can tell. He's gained a significant amount of weight. Bile rises in his throat and he looks down at his meal. Magda is next to him talking to Charles, and neither is looking in his direction, but he doesn't yet trust his newly restored speed enough to try and make it to the bathroom and back without them noticing. 

It takes an insane amount of willpower to consume the rest of the meal. He nearly gags a few times, and he drinks an unbelievable amount of water to wash it down with, even though that just makes his stomach feel even more full. Charles seems to notice his discomfort, but Peter makes a show of struggling and yet eating, and as that is to be expected anyway, Charles sees nothing amiss. 

He waits until Magda takes his tray and then asks for some peace so he can sleep. He's still not fully recovered from his illness, and a sharp cough convinces them that he needs rest. They leave him without much trouble, though his mom kisses him on the forehead and tells him she's proud of him for trying. He feels a sharp pain of guilt, but it's overcome by the taste of vomit in his throat and the pain in his full stomach. The moment the door is closed, he's on his feet and shooting into the bathroom. He moves so quickly, the dizzy spell doesn't hit him until he's vomiting violently into the toilet. His hands brace on the floor around it as he wavers, coughing and tearing up. His eyes are burning, his throat is burning, his stomach clenches painfully. He heaves again. The tears from the pain turn into full on sobbing. What the hell is he doing? He didn't even have to try to throw up. He's fucked up, he keeps fucking up. He's a _man_ , not a frightened or insecure child. But- that's what he feels like. He's just a child. He never grew up, he never did anything with his life, he never used his gift for anything good. Except to save the world, but that doesn't even count. He barely did anything and then he got his leg broken and got in the way and screwed things up-

He's sort of panicking, but he's mostly just crying. Crying like a child. He's just a fucking child. 

 

 

 

By the time he has visitors again, he knows he looks like shit. Erik comes into the room and just blinks at the sight of him. He's curled under three blankets because he gets cold so fucking fast, and his eyes are swollen and sunken in. He tried splashing cold water on his face but it really didn't do much. He didn't get any sleep, and he's just staring at the wall with an emotionless expression. The plan was to fake it again. The plan was to cover things up, act okay. But he's just so tired he can't do it right now. He doesn't want to. He needs help, he realized that as he leaned over a toilet and felt relieved, felt _right_. That's not normal and he knows it. He needs help so badly. 

"How are you feeling?" Erik asks calmly, but Peter sees the flash of frustration on his face and it stings. He can't blame the man, though. He's a useless wreck. 

"Tired," Peter says, not knowing what else to say. His voice is nearly gone from heaving so hard and then crying. 

"Who let you be alone?" Erik asks, and oh. That's the frustration. Erik trusts him less than the others do, probably because he knows him the best as he is at the moment. 

"I asked mom and Charles to let me sleep," Peter says. "I just couldn't actually sleep." 

Erik takes the chair next to the bed and sighs. "What's going on? You're thinking pretty hard." 

He's a smart man, Peter knows this. But he didn't know such an emotionally stunted person could read people so well. 

"Sometimes it gets better for a bit when I get distracted and stop thinking about everything," he starts slowly. "I'm not wondering and worrying and panicking about everything. But that just means that when I get back to that headspace..."

"It's even worse?"

"...yes." Peter closes his aching eyes and wills the pain in his head to go away. His throat is scratchy. When was the last time he physically felt okay? He rarely used to even get a cold. 

Erik seems to sense his discomfort. "Is it alright if I get Hank? He may be able to help you feel a little better.":

Peter sighs. What's there left to hide? They've seen him vomit all over himself, they've seen him have a panic attack, they've seen him naked for heavens sake. The only thing he hasn't yet done is shit himself, so he'll cling to that and the last shred of his fragile pride. "Yeah, that's okay."

Erik gives him a small smile and then disappears. Peter tries not to panic over nothing for the hundredth time. _It's not weak to ask for help. It's not weak to ask for help. It's not weak to ask for help._

He feels weak anyway. 

 

 

 

Hank gives him a high dose of painkillers because it works through his system so quickly if it's too weak. Even so, it works through fast enough to get rid of the headache quickly. Erik gives him a cold, wet cloth for his eyes, and that eases the itching ache. It's a little hard to feel like he's inconveniencing them, but he also enjoys it just a little. He's not expected to do anything except recover from whatever just happened. He can do that. That's only one step at a time, and just maybe that's manageable.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Erik asks when Hank has left. Peter shrugs, setting the now warm cloth on the nightstand and pulling the blankets tighter around him.

"It was nothing new," Peter says. Erik frowns.

"That doesn't make it okay. That doesn't mean it wasn't hard, whatever 'it' is."

Okay, maybe he's got a point. But what is there to say about it? Peter doesn't have a clue.

"I threw up by accident?"

Erik's frown deepens. "By accident?"

"Like..." Peter sighs. "I started overthinking while I was eating and then afterward I freaked out and it just came up on it's own."

"And if it hadn't come up on it's own?"

Erik looks stern and Peter feels chastised. "I- I might have. I don't know. I'm sorry."

The older man's face softens. "It's alright, Peter, I'm glad you told me. You're doing really well, slip-ups are bound to happen. I'll see if Hank can get you a small snack."

Peter wants to protest but he knows it wouldn't work. "Okay."

"You're doing well enough, we won't push it," Erik promises. "Just something small to tide you over to dinner."

Maybe he can do that. Just something small. But when Hank brings up a banana and some yogurt, it looks and smells like the most disgusting thing that Peter has ever seen. His traitor stomach growls, but he can almost taste vomit again at the idea of swallowing a single bite.

Erik acts like he doesn't notice Peter's discomfort, and he sets the tray in his lap.

It takes three tries to take a bite of the banana, and the yogurt makes his stomach turn. He can hear himself chewing far too well and it only makes things worse.

"Can you- could you maybe talk, or something?"

"Talk?" Erik questions.

"I can't eat without a distraction. I'll overthink it and it'll come right back up," Peter says.  

"Would you mind any visitors?" Erik asks. "The younger children have been asking to come see you again."

"They have?" Peter asks, a little surprised. He didn't think they hated him, per se, but he didn't know they'd really care to come see him. 

"I think they feel you have all bonded over...past events. You're part of their group. You're part of this family."

"But..."

He must see the hesitation that crosses Peter's face, because he shakes his head. "I understand the reluctancy to believe that, to comprehend that there is a family for you that may not replace your blood family but is as good as one. But it's true. You may as well accept it." A slight smirk makes it way onto his face. "Lord knows Charles and Raven have pestered me long enough to. Don't take as long as I did, alright?"

Peter feels himself smile a little. "Alright," he says. "Company wouldn't be terrible, I suppose."

"Alright, I'll only be gone a moment."

Erik leaves the room and returns shortly with Scott, Jean, and Kurt. The others are all in lessons, apparently, but the three seem fairly excited to see him. Scott has to maintain his cool and aloof image, but he does pat Peter on the shoulder and smile. 

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Jean says softly, and it hits Peter that she's right. He did just have a breakdown, but he came out of it feeling a little lighter. He nods at her gratefully. 

"Yeah!" Kurt blurts. "We missed you. The younger children want to see you go fast again."

Erik frowns at the idea, but Peter just laughs. "It's always a hit with the kids, isn't it?"

"Well you're moving at about the same speed they are," Erik grumbles. The others look a little surprised at his joking but thankfully don't comment.

Peter remembers the food and goes back to trying to stomach it.

"So, I'm still reading to Kurt," Jean says, "and I thought maybe you'd like to join us? You've already read the books, but I thought you might enjoy the company. We could come up here to do it."

"Really?" Peter smiles. "I think I'd like that. Maybe Erik would enjoy some Sherlock Holmes." He smirks at his dad.

"I've ready them, actually," Erik replies. "I wasn't uneducated, mind you."

Sometimes Peter forgets that Erik has only recently loosened up, that he's most himself around Peter and Charles. That makes Peter feel a little better. It was probably mostly Charles' fault, but he did some of the work too. He did something right for once. 

Erik leaves after a little while when Charles asks if he's free, and Jean decides to read aloud to Kurt and Peter. Scott gets surprisingly into the story and stays, trying to guess all of the answers and explain things. He's mostly terribly off, but they get a good laugh and he doesn't mind them laughing at him. Peter catches himself laughing harder than he has in a while, and instead of making his mood drop like it usually does, he just smiles to himself and at the people around him. He's enjoying himself and he's going to continue to do so. Ororo joins them after a while and asks lots of questions about the series that they all fill in, Scott with a few outrageous lies that Ororo protests at immediately. 

Maybe life looks more like this. Maybe _his_ life will stay like this. Maybe it doesn't matter if he's good enough for it or not- he gets it, and he's not going to waste it with his insecurities and fears. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this will be the last chapter. I want to give you all closure but I also need to move on to other things. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review this story! I love hearing from you all. I'm not sure when/if I will be doing other X-Men fics, but I'd love to hear from you if you read any of my other stories. I do recognize, however, that I sort of write for the most random fandoms, so there probably won't be many people in all of the same ones I am in.

Erik watches as his son turns fitfully in his sleep, a frown on his face and his eyebrows furrowed in pain. To see the boy in so much pain also pains Erik, and he curses this disease. Hank tells him it's the malnutrition that makes sleeping hard, and Peter finds himself in pain a lot of the time as his body adjusts to eating more food and healing up from...well. The trauma of almost shutting down entirely. He has to admit that he doesn't understand why Peter feels the way he does, doesn't understand his fear of being well fed and of food in general. He tells Erik that he believes he needs to be lighter to be faster, but Erik tells him that he also has to be stronger. This would be difficult enough if Peter needed to consume a normal amount of food, but with his metabolism, it feels as if they'll never catch him up to how much he really needs to be eating. 

He threw up again today, and Erik still isn't sure if it was on purpose or not. This happens every few days- Peter does his best to eat, and then it all comes up and they start at square one as he panics. Sometimes he overthinks and it just comes up of its own free will, and sometimes he eats just to get them off his case so he can go throw up without much suspicion. Charles discussed suppressing his powers again, but they fear the backlash of Peter panicking. He can barely remember moving at a normal speed, and Erik knows he doesn't feel like himself without it. It would only push him back over the edge again. 

He tries to encourage the children to visit. Peter loves them all, and the older ones enjoy reading with him every day. Hank talked Peter into trying harder when he said they could go to the mall once he gained some weight, but with all the setbacks, Peter just gets upset at letting them all down. Scott is, surprisingly, the most understanding. They're all kind to Peter about it, but Scott has softened quite a bit and will sit and talk with Peter until he feels less guilty. Erik suspects they have also discussed Alex Summers. He can't help but also feel responsible for his death. Ororo is still upset that she was there when it happened, but Erik knew him personally for some time, and he was older, should have known better...

But Scott has accepted him. It did take some time, but he feels that his acceptance is good enough, even if he cannot have his forgiveness. He wouldn't be surprised if he heard that Charles had had a discussion with the boy, but if it was his choice to get along with Erik, that is good enough for him. 

Peter has broken out into a cold sweat and suddenly starts whimpering in his sleep. It embarrasses him to know that he does that, but Erik doesn't find it weak. How many times has he himself woken up to catch himself doing the same thing? He and Peter have both been through hell. They aren't weak, they're survivors, and he'll show that to Peter somehow. 

When Peter moves upward and cries out, Erik goes to wake him up, but he suddenly calms and settles back into his pillow. Erik isn't surprised when he turns to see Charles in the doorway. 

"I couldn't help Jean with her nightmares," he says calmly, greeting Erik with a small smile before closing the door behind him. "I believe it is because they were visions. But simple-" he winces. "basic? Well, nightmares of a natural sort I can help."

"How?" Erik asks, his voice rasping. 

"I just pull a happy memory to the front of their mind, and it calms them enough to let them fall into a deeper and dreamless sleep. It's the least I can do for the poor boy."

"He's not really a child," Erik muses.

"Ah, but he seems like one, doesn't he? In some ways he is grown beyond his years, but he's still innocent."

"I wish we had retained that," Erik says. "I wish I had. It is obvious now that one can retain one's innocence even through torment. It is a choice."

"Erik, it does us no good to dwell on the past," Charles tells him with a frown. "I understand your train of thought, but you'll only torture yourself further if you do not learn to move on. We who are without that innocence can use that to protect those who have kept it."

"You're still innocent," Erik says, but his smile is slightly teasing. Charles looks as if he wants to roll his eyes.

"Optimism and innocence are not the same thing- besides, I lost both."

"You lost your way," Erik tells him. "You found it again. I never lost it because I never had it in the first place."

"Until now," Charles says firmly. "You are exactly where you are supposed to be."

Erik smiles at that, turning to look at his now peacefully sleeping son. "Who would have known how much this could have changed me? I think that if he had found me any sooner, things might have...gone differently."

"You were still too deep in grief for everyone you have lost," Charles says. "Now you know how to grieve and live at once."

"That is true," Erik agrees. "He has helped to change me."

"I'm glad."

"You have as well. He was just the extra push. You have always been there for me, believed in me."

"I always will," Charles says so determinedly that Erik can't help but lean down and kiss him. 

"I will try to deserve it," he says, but he doesn't feel it self-deprecatingly. He is also recovering. 

The door opens and Hank trips in with his medicine bag he keeps all the sharp tools in. He catches himself and then looks at the pair awkwardly.

"I...uh. Excuse me."

"He's sleeping right now," Charles tells him. "Perhaps you could come back later?"

"Uh." Hank trips again on his way out. "Of course."

Erik thinks he hears an _I really didn't want to see that_ before the door closes again, but he merely smiles as Charles laughs. 

"Poor Hank. I have put him through too much."

"We all have," Erik says, laughing as well. 

 

 

 

Peter's room has slowly become a hang out hotspot for all of the teenagers, and Erik often finds himself hilariously out of place amongst the loud children. They vary in ages, the early bloomers to the kids in their late teens, and Erik isn't sure how to handle any of them. If they find him in there when they come to see Peter, they greet him as casually as they greet Hank or Charles. The youngest ones will even climb onto his lap to see Peter better, and he finds himself just letting them. It's definitely new, but he has had some experience with children in the past, and he finds himself even enjoying it. They all adore Peter, and he tells them the most ridiculous stories- some true and some not so much. Many Erik suspects are merely exaggerated, and Charles keeps reminding the boy that he shouldn't encourage them to follow down his path of...well, stealing and generally breaking the law. To the children, however, they all seem like stories too hilarious to be true, so Erik isn't really worried. Peter has gotten himself into a lot of trouble in the past, and Erik does sometimes wish he'd been around for him then, especially when he tells one of the younger boys about the kids at his school who bullied him for being weird. But what would Erik have done? He doesn't want to think about it, so he simply reminds himself that he cannot change the past and to live in the present. 

Peter swings violently up and down. It starts to seem as if the better he does one day, the worse he does the next, but the pattern means that they're prepared for it. He knows that no matter how much it frustrates any of them, it always is even worse for Peter. Charles finally gets unusually dark for himself and threatens to take Peter's speed away again if the cycle doesn't break, and while Peter wasn't deliberately swinging into a rhythm, Erik knows it helped him break out of it subconsciously. (He also suspects that Charles knew the threat would cause a panic attack and managed to cut it off with some pleasant memories. Peter just scowled at him but went with it, thank god). 

Magda seems to thrive off of whisking the children into order, and Raven is extremely relieved to find herself with more time for the older children. She also visits Peter a lot, and Erik thinks that her friendship with Peter has helped her forgive him of his past grievances toward her. God, has he done that girl wrong, but she's grown up enough to move on and he needs to as well. This is a future he could never have foreseen, and he finds himself thinking he'll wake up at any moment. But he doesn't, and he slowly comes to accept that it's real.

He does almost have a heart attack, however, when one day he walks into Peter's room to find him in the bathroom with a knife. The flashbacks are almost overwhelming, and he feels as if he'll have a panic attack himself. 

But Peter just turns to him and sets it down, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. 

"I didn't do anything," he says, and Erik sighs in relief.

"But you wanted to."

"But I wanted to," Peter agrees. "I wouldn't have even if you hadn't come in, though. I don't know what came over me, but whatever it is faded when I really thought about it this time."

Erik sits down beside him on the bathroom floor. "You could have come to me or Charles," he says, sending the knife over to the table in the bedroom. He'll take it on his way out.

"I know." Peter hesitates. "It's- it's still hard sometimes to not feel like a burden. I know everyone says I'm not, but I do make everyone do a lot."

"Less and less all the time," Erik tells him, "and if you come to us about this sort of thing, we'll rest easier. Silence makes us worry."

Peter looks a little guilty. "Sorry. I'll try to next time."

"I'm not angry," Erik says. "I was a little afraid, but I'm not angry."

Peter laughs slightly. "Look at you, admitting to your feelings and everything."

Erik rolls his eyes and then wonders just how much his son has had an influence on him. "I believe they call it 'character development,'" he says, and Peter laughs louder.

"All jokes, this one," he says, standing up and offering Erik a hand. "Pretty soon the kids will be wanting stories from you too."

Erik lets him help him up and then follows him into the bedroom. Peter flops on the bed and Erik takes the chair, wishing he didn't feel so old when he sat down. 

"I don't have many that are suitable for younger ears," he says. 

"You have a few- how about that time I helped break you out of prison?" Peter says cheekily, grinning at him. 

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" Erik sighs, and Peter shakes his head. "Well, perhaps I _will_ tell them about the time an obnoxious young upstart broke me out of a maximum security prison because he was all-too-excited to up his game in breaking the law." 

Peter laughs again and then they both sober up, Erik wondering how to talk to him. He can't just let it go, but he wishes he could when Peter acts so happy immediately after. He thinks it's somewhat genuine, but he still needs to address the issue. 

"What prompted that?" he asks, and Peter knows what he's talking about. 

"The near-relapse? Nothing. That's the thing I hate. It just seems to happen for no reason. I'm doing fine, having fun- laughing, even- and then suddenly nothing is right and everything feels like it's going wrong and I'm just- scared. Or dull."

"Dull?"

"It's hard to explain. It's almost like everything is out of focus because it just doesn't even matter, and I can't feel. I'm just...apathetic. It's awful. Almost feels like I'm at the bottom of a pool with water going into my lungs but for some reason I can't bring myself to care, even as I'm drowning. I feel detached."

Erik's surprised to realize he understands the feeling. When he wasn't feeling anger and a thirst for revenge, the same thing would happen, as if his mind needed to take a break from all of it and just shut down for a bit. "I believe I understand what you are saying," he tells his son, "maybe not in exactly the same way or to the same extent, but I do. And this makes you want to..."

"Yes." Peter sighs. "It's this urge to make myself feel something again, I suppose, get that rush of pain and adrenaline. Or I just care so little about everything that I decide it's not worth it. But that's not true, it is. I just need to learn how to counteract whatever this is that makes me feel this way."

"I may have some ideas," a voice says from the doorway. It's Charles. He has a bad habit of doing that, just popping by and scaring people, and Peter and Erik are so accustomed to it that they don't even jump. "I think that maybe if you come to me when you begin to feel like that, I could perhaps help you bring some memories to the forefront of your mind to counteract the feeling. It wouldn't necessarily be a permanent solution or always work, but it may help, and in time you should learn the habit on your own."

Erik looks to Peter to see his reaction. He seems deep in thought for a moment. 

"I suppose it won't really matter if it doesn't work," he says with a shrug. 

"That's true," Erik says. He wants to encourage Peter to try, but he understands that Peter likes to feel in control of his life. 

"You might-" Peter hesitates. "You might see what I'm thinking at the time, though, and I...it's not fun."

"Peter," Charles says gently, coming to a stop by his bed. "I have seen so much in just one lifetime, I believe I can take it. And I have already seen- all it will do is help reassure me that I am doing what I can to help you. That is more than worth it."

"If you're sure," Peter says dubiously. 

"I am certain."

"Then I suppose it's worth a shot," Peter says. "I'll just...I mean, I'm okay right now."

"Of course," Charles says, "you just come to me, alright? Then it's your choice every time."

Peter seems to relax at that, and once again Erik can't help but admire the man he loves for his compassion and gentleness with his son. 

He's interrupted, however, by the sound of small feet running in the hallway. Then the door is flung open, and several of the youngest students at the mansion barrel into the room.

"Story time!" one calls excitedly, throwing herself onto the bed. The older children aren't far behind, but they enter more calmly, which Erik is thankful for. He and Charles withdraw to the back of the room and watch the scene unfold as the smaller children crowd around Peter on the bed, all chattering excitedly, while the teenagers pull up chairs or sit on the floor. 

"Oh no," Peter says, "I _always_ tell the stories." He looks at Erik with a twinkle in his eyes, and Erik sighs, knowing exactly what his son wants.

"I'm not telling the story, Peter," he insists, trying not to smile. 

The children actually seem disappointed, and he wavers, but Peter interrupts.

"Alright then," he says laughing, "I'll tell you a story _about_ my dad. So it all starts with him shooting the president-"

"I didn't shoot the president!" Erik protests. 

"Well, it's true, he didn't," Peter says, "but everyone thought he did, so for now we're gonna say he did. So he shot the president-"

Erik just huffs and crosses his arms as Charles laughs.

"Then what?" someone interrupts.

"I'm getting there!" Peter scowls. "So, he was in this big a- this large prison, with tons and tons of security and cameras and everything, and then Professor Xavier needed to get him out because they were totally in love and couldn't be apart for too long even though they sort of wanted to kill each other-"

Charles is still laughing and Erik just rolls his eyes. 

"It's true," Raven says from the back. Erik hadn't even noticed her there. 

"It is," Peter agrees. "Anyway, so the Wolverine said he knew about some totally awesome dude who would be the _perfect_ person to help them, so they all headed over there-"

"Wolverine?" Scott asks.

"Yeah, but from the future," Peter says. "It was all screwy. Apparently we're friends someday. But they went to this guy's house, and he _was_  this totally awesome dude who would be the perfect person to help them, so they talked him into it because he loved breaking the rules. He was only a teenager, like you youngsters."

Scott rolls his eyes but doesn't add any further comments. Raven just snorts. 

"So they headed off together," Peter continues, "and when they got to the prison, the guy- who was really, really fast by the way- was like 'dudes, I totally know how to handle this, I got you,' and they came up with this super crazy plan. So he found himself dressed as a guard and bringing food to this super, ultra dangerous villain that he was supposed to let loose, and he did this super cool thing where he put his hands on the glass and vibrated them until the glass just exploded!"

The younger children look extremely impressed. Erik will never admit it out loud, but it _had_ been fairly impressive. 

"Then they got caught!" Peter says dramatically, and a few gasps go around the room. "All of the guards shot at them, but the really fast guy flew around the room, running on the walls and moving everything to where he wanted it. He pushed the bullets out of the way and made the guards punch themselves in the face like this-" and he demonstrates with a comically exaggerated expression. "It was the most awesome thing ever, basically. He saved everyone's as- um, their lives. So for everyone else it was like they were about to die and then suddenly the bullets went flying the wrong way and all the guards were knocked out and it was just so cool. They made their escape and they owed it to the really fast guy because, after all, he had been a totally awesome dude who was the perfect person to help them. But he was just a teenager so they dumped him back at home and made him just watch the rest on tv."

"Aw," says one of the middle kids. 

"Nah, he was safer," Peter says. "That way he grew up and got to be even better at running. So- that's the end."

"That's all? Where is he now?" one of the youngest asked. A few of the kids snickered.

"It's Peter, you idiot," someone said, and the first kid scowled.

"Hey, be nice," Peter says, "if you'll all behave, I'll tell another one. It'll be better cause it's all made up and those are more fun."

"I want Raven to tell a story!" Ororo exclaims, and Raven suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh no, I have no imagination," she says. "I'm just boring and old."

"Nonsense," Charles says with a snicker. "I think you'll do fabulously."

After many death glares thrown at Charles from Raven and much pleading from the children, she finally agreed to it and moved to sit on the bed by Peter as she fumbled with her words and scowled at anyone who laughed at the wrong moment. Erik didn't pay close attention to the story as he watched all of the people around him, all people he felt some sort of fondness and protectiveness toward, and he knew that despite what the future may bring, they were making some amazing memories right now- ones that Charles could use to help Peter, ones that Erik could use to help himself. He has loved and he has lost, but that doesn't mean that the moments like these aren't worth it. He watches as Peter throws his head back and laughs harder than he's ever seen him laugh, and he sees Charles smiling fondly at his son from beside him, and he loves his life. 

He thinks that Peter does as well, and that makes the story feel complete. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you all? I miss hearing from you, and I'm sorry the chapters are so few and far between. I'm trying to wrap this up well because I don't want it to just fade off, but I know you're all probably tired of waiting. 
> 
> I've had so much shit thrown at me since my best friend played around with my feelings and then dated another girl. His girlfriend and her mom constantly post about me on instagram and facebook, and even when they don't name names everyone knows who they're talking about. This past weekend his girlfriend's mom left a comment on an article he posted saying that an unnamed 'second girl' was making his relationship toxic because 'she can't get herself a single guy so she goes for a taken one.' I have respected their relationship and I have always responded to their hatred calmly, but they throw more and more shit at me. I have never tried to break them up in any way except advising him to bring it to an end when she started emotionally abusing him, and even then I had no intentions of dating him. I didn't respond to the post OR get mad at him, I simply asked if he was okay, but he told me he needed space and then went back to being just fine with her. I'm done, I'm sick of hurting over this.  
> Sorry. Needed a rant.


End file.
